John and Delenn in Never Enough
by NWHS
Summary: 25 reasons to have sex challenge
1. Reason 1: Wedding Night

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Delenn of Mir and John Sheridan**

**Author: NWHS**

**Author's Note:** I was on the Archive of Our Own fanfiction site and stumbled upon a story entitled "Emotion in Motion" by Cartography. His/her fic was in response to a 50 reasons to have sex challenge (any fandom). Cartography took the challenge and has written 10 of the 50. If interested please drop by the site. (/works/348409?view_full_work=true) As a result, I thought it would be fun to engage in a similar personal challenge. However, I damn sure can't see myself coming up with 50 reasons so I scaled it down to 25. What you'll read will be 25 fun snippets, not full-blown stories. Hope you enjoy.

**Never Enough**

**Reason 1: Wedding Night**

Who knew humans perspired so much and so easily, Delenn thought with a vague grimace. She hated to sweat. Hated the way her robes stuck to her body when she did. Despised the way it rolled down her form and settled in indelicate places. Repulsed by the way the salty-tart smell seemed to linger in her clothing and hair.

Yes, Delenn of Mir hated to sweat. Or at least she hated to sweat alone or without a very good reason. And she'd discovered tonight that sweating with John while making passionate love was quite an acceptable reason indeed.

In fact, Delenn deliberated, pulling the sheets up to her pale, slim waist, having John's muscular body moving over top of her own was even more tantalizing when the moisture from his chest grazed her achingly erect nipples. The aroused buds simply sank into him, the sweat warm, slick, and surprisingly erotic.

"That was well worth the wait." John snuggled closer to her, his body now dry, the coolness of the room doing what a clean towel what've done if they'd had the energy or the inclination to move from their bed.

No, they were far too comfortable, far too satiated, far too exhausted to venture one inch from the bed or each other.

The White Star would not have been Delenn's first, second, or even third choice for their wedding or the consummation of their union. But it seemed strangely appropriate for them to wed on a vessel that was as much a force of might and will as it was a symbol of sacrifice and unity.

So, on a vessel that had the indomitable ability to take lives in order to save even more, John and Delenn committed themselves to each other, the universe, the future. In heart. In soul. And finally in body.

" 'Well worth the wait?'" Delenn repeated, her voice playful, eyes firmly on the smiling, handsome face of her new husband. "That wasn't what you said when we reached ritual twenty. Or thirty-five. Or even—"

John kissed her then, a wonderful silencing kiss she didn't mind at all.

After long moments of oral exploration, John released her mouth, his hands still pressed firmly to her hips, fingers kneading in the most distracting way.

"I didn't say I enjoyed the wait, honey. Only that being with you lived up to every one of my wet dreams." John gave her a wicked grin, the one she adored because it gave him a youthful, roguish look. And what woman, even one schooled in a temple, didn't find a bit of the rascal in a male appealing on some primal level?

To her surprise, perhaps even embarrassment, Delenn did, especially two hours ago when John proclaimed, "I'm going to lick and suck and bite and taste every inch of you. Then I'm going to take you from on top, the side, the back, with both mouth and penis. And when you scream my name, begging for more, I'll give it to you, as hard and deep as you like."

And he did.

And she screamed. And begged. And writhed. And _sweated_. Valen, how she sweated.

His hands dug in deeper, one going lower, circling her inner thigh before moving north and settling at the apex of her sex. Slowly, one then two fingers made their way inside, stroking with a determined gentleness.

Her response was immediate, hips rotating upward, meeting each pleasurable thrust.

John whispered against her bare breast, "It's still our wedding night, Delenn; we have hours yet before we have to even think about leaving this bed"—deeper penetration—"these quarters."

Her husband rolled on top of her, settling comfortably between her parted legs as if they'd done this a hundred times before.

Delenn reached for her husband, pulled his head closer to her own, lips nearly touching, and said in a sensual voice full of a woman's need, "Make me sweat, John."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Reason 2: Stress Reliever

**Reason 2: Stress Reliever**

(Season 5, Episode 1, No Compromises)

_Our new friend just said all the security in the world can't stop a lone gunman dedicated to exchange his life for that of his target, and he is right. So you may as well live instead of being a prisoner. _Strong words said by a man with even stronger convictions, John thought. But as he glanced down at his meditating wife, her body rigid, knees tucked under her black, satin robe, a single white candle before her, John felt a wave of uncertainty. _Foolish and prideful_ he amended, the tension in his head increasing.

Some madman was determined to kill him. _What else is new?_ John thought, a shallow grimace forming. Then he looked back at his wife and realized nothing and everything was new.

He was a married man now. Again. And with that came certain responsibilities. A single man can tempt fate, raise his hand to the flames and hope he doesn't burn. But should a married man do the same? Should that same man continue to approach life in the same manner as before, knowing that death was never as far away as one would like to believe? Or should such a man simply _live_, _be_, for as long as he was able? With the woman he chose to be with?

John sipped his coffee, then looked at the chronometer on the wall. It was now only two hours before the swearing in. People were already referring to him as "Mr. President," but neither the title nor the position was officially his until he'd taken the oath of office penned by G'Kar. It was a change, one he was still trying to wrap his head around. For a man like John Sheridan, former military officer and soldier, wearing a suit and walking around unarmed had always been for the politico types. Now, however, he was one of the politicos. And as far as the Interstellar Alliance, he was _the_ politico.

John continued to nurse his coffee and watch his wife, her pretty face serene in the glow of the candlelight.

Then the grimace came again. He was the reason why his wife felt the need to meditate only hours before the official inauguration. She, like his friends—Garibaldi, Londo, Stephen, and G'Kar—wanted him to lay low, to postpone the inauguration until the would-be assassin was in custody. But he'd refused, having accepted in his heart and mind everything that came with the post he had yet to be sworn into. John may have switched uniforms but his mind would always be that of a soldier. And soldiers did not retreat unless it was in their best interest to do so. And one thing John knew was when to turn tail and run. Now was not one of those times. Yet . . .

Delenn shifted on her prayer rug and John wondered if she was uncomfortable in that spot. After all, she'd been like that for nearly an hour. Then again, hours of uninterrupted prayer and meditation was as normal for her as sitting on the couch was for him

John glanced into the still blackness of his coffee cup, wishing he felt as brave as his words had come across. Not that he didn't still feel the exact same way, but he had no interest in leaving Delenn one minute before those damn twenty years were exhausted.

Another sip.

Then there was Elizabeth Lochley, new Captain of Babylon 5 and former wife to John Sheridan. She had been the only person to side with him, Delenn and Garibaldi none too pleased with the first real decision she'd made in her new role.

Lochley was good for that, standing out on her own if she thought it was the right thing to do. She would be cowed by no one, not even a first husband turned president. And that was the very trait he liked most about her. Well, not as a wife. Such a stubborn, take it or leave it personality was hell on a marriage. But as a captain, as a soldier, it was ideal. So he'd offered the position and thankfully she'd accepted.

John sighed, the coffee doing nothing for his tension, the stress headache steadily building.

He would have to tell Delenn eventually. But after today, after having his first wife align with him in opposition to his current wife . . . well, the truth seemed more dangerous to John than the god damn man trying to kill him.

And surely sometime between when he'd first had the idea and when he contacted Lochley, he should've told Delenn. Or perhaps it should've been earlier, like when they'd moved deeper into the courting rituals. Or better, before he even proposed.

Another grimace.

John began a slow temple massage, hoping to relieve his stress headache, wishing now he'd taken the time to learn how to meditate. Not that he still couldn't, but that was for a future crisis. And John knew, unfortunately, there would be another crisis to test him . . . Delenn, and the Alliance. Such things seemed to be inevitable.

But what about now? There was still over an hour before the ceremony and John couldn't sit still another moment. He had to do something and leaving his quarters to go for a walk wasn't even an option. He'd promised both Delenn and Garibaldi that he'd stay put until the ceremony. And by "staying put," they meant in his quarters. The fact that Delenn hadn't dressed for the ceremony after showering and left to attend to last-minute details meant she was as much his wife now as his babysitter.

Yes, a beautifully calm babysitter. While he, on the other hand, was fit to be tied. Stress was a bitch and the cowgirl was riding his ass right now. Between the assassin and his secret, John's head was ready to explode. Something had to give.

John eyed his wife again and then the chronometer. His wife. The chronometer. His wife. The chronometer. Then he smiled. There was one thing. One very good, sure way to relieve his stress and kill some time.

As if sensing his thoughts were on her, Delenn opened her eyes, those knowing green-gray orbs finding him immediately.

"You're bored," she said simply, and John smiled, feeling as if she's known him a lifetime.

"Yes that, but I also have the damndest stress headache."

If felt good to admit that to her. In spite of his earlier sentiments, these were still stressful times they found themselves. This latest wrinkle the universe's way of reminding him that the Vorlons, Shadows, and Clark may be gone, but that darkness is never far way.

John almost laughed at his Minbari way of viewing the present and the future. Delenn was definitely rubbing off on him, but not in the way he now had in mind.

She stood, her brow creasing in concern. "If you like, there is a tea I can prepare that will help with your headache."

John stood as well and met his wife as she walked towards him. "While I do love your herbal remedies, honey, there is another stress reliever I would prefer."

She gave him a quizzical look, reminding John that there was still plenty Delenn had yet to learn about him. Suddenly, the thought of showing Delenn exactly how some human males liked to relieve stress was almost as arousing as the thought of explaining make-up sex to her.

Yeah, John wasn't fool enough to believe he could keep the Lochley secret hidden forever. But that was a stress headache for another day. An argument he was unwilling to have right now. No, the only thing he wanted right now was Delenn.

Quickly scooping his wife into his arms, John couldn't help but laugh at the girlie yelp of surprise that came from his very proper Minbari wife.

He dumped her in the center of their bed, disrobed, and joined her, all before Delenn could manage more than wide eyes and open mouth.

"John, what—"

He kissed her.

"Human remedy, honey."

Another kiss, deeper this time, hands going to her sash and untying.

"For stress?"

He opened the robe before kissing her again, lower this time, hands and mouth finding breast and nipple.

She sighed and grasped his head, fingers slowly gliding through soft hair. He didn't stop; her arousing massage and soft moans making him want her even more.

"I-I can see the merits of such a medicinal treatment," Delenn said on a contented moan, back arching, giving him more of her delicate bounty.

"I thought you would." He moved lower, licking belly and hips. "Better than meditation?"

She said nothing so he went lower still, Delenn's soft fingers tightening with that first slow glide of his tongue between wet, ready lips.

Then she did speak, screamed in fact. "Yes, J-John, better than m-meditation."

Oh, and it was. The best stress relieving sex John Sheridan had ever had.

Now, he thought, standing beside his wife, waiting to be sworn in, if he survived today and escaped the would-be assassin, he'd have make-up sex to look forward to. But that also meant . . .

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Reason 3: Bad Dream

**Reason 3: Bad Dream**

Delenn sat curled in a chair in the corner of her and John's bedroom, feet and legs tucked warmly under a cotton throw cover, watching her husband sleep.

It wasn't a peaceful slumber; in fact, since they married and begun sharing a bed, John had yet to manage more than four consecutive days of peaceful sleep. Not that Delenn's presence beside him was the cause. No, her presence only confirmed what she'd suspected since John's return from Z'ha'dum.

He suffered from frequent nightmares.

Not that John wanted to admit to such a "weakness" as he'd called it. Unfortunately, that bit of human male purging came only after he awoke screaming and flailing about two weeks after their marriage, knocking Delenn from the bed as he blindly reached for something to prevent his fall into oblivion . . . to his death.

Instead of finding a safe wall or ledge to hold on to, John roughly grasped her arm, leaving blue and black marks where his fingers had been.

"God, Delenn, I can't believe I did that. I would never hurt you. Fuck, what kind of man bruises his own wife?" he'd said, the guilt and self-directed anger as painful as any Flagellant seeking penance.

Delenn had tried to reassure him, knowing the bruises were unintentional and would heal. But she wondered if her husband would. For the nightmares weren't of a singular origin. No, John's mind had an array of horrific delicacies from which to feast—Anna's return, his death, Susan's near death, Marcus' sacrifice, Michael's betrayal, his torture.

John turned onto his side and reached for her, his hand skimming where she would normally be at three in the morning. But Delenn had taken to leaving the bed when John got into one of his more physical dreams. Not that she feared her husband, but she hated the way he punished himself after the first incident. He looked guilty and lost and pained. And afraid. So very afraid.

And while Delenn wasn't afraid of John hurting her again, he was nothing but fearful. So, Delenn had taken to leaving the bed for an hour or two on nights like tonight. John's twisting and turning sure signs of a distressful sleep that would get worst before he could finally manage to subdue the demons once more.

"Delenn?" John whispered, his eyes closed, hand groping fruitlessly at empty space. "Delenn?" His voice was full of worry now, the remnants of his dream, she assumed, beginning to fade away, reality slowly exerting itself.

Quietly yet quickly, Delenn unfurled herself from the chair and went to her husband. She slid back into bed and took hold of the hand reaching for her.

"I thought . . . I thought you had left me. Alone. In The. Dark."

Delenn fought back tears, grateful the candle atop the dresser was too far away to illuminate John's features. His anguished voice was enough; she needn't see his face as well.

"I'm here, John," she soothed. "I'll always be here."

"You'll catch me?" He sat up, hands searching until he found her neck, her face, her hair.

She pressed her forehead against his. "I'll always catch you, John." Delenn closed her eyes, allowing John to simply hold her, his breathing heavy from the nightmare, but beginning to slow. "Always." Another reassurance, but words were never enough. Not when John's dreams paralyzed and confused him.

Delenn lowered her head and captured John's mouth, a soft pressing of lips and nothing more. She needed to wake him fully, introduce John to sensations other than the ones whirling about his dream-fogged brain. But she also had to do it slowly, cautiously.

She kissed him again, a gentle caress of tongue over lower and upper lips. Jaw. Lobe of ear. Neck. Collarbone.

By the time she reached his mouth again, John's hands had stolen under her blue silk nightgown, finding her thighs then bare bottom.

Pulling her with tender arousal, Delenn went, settling on John's lap, her knees straddling his hips. Hands still on her backside, he palmed her in a way that told Delenn John was fully and achingly awake.

"I need you." He spoke the words against her throat, then released her just long enough to release himself. "I need you so much, honey."

"I know." And she did, because Delenn needed John just as much. And neither one of them was referring to the joining to come.

Lifting a few inches, Delenn took John inside her, his engorged manhood slowly, beautifully stretching her, making room for the only male she's ever desired to be this close to. The only male she's ever confessed her secrets and sins to. The only male she's allowed to see her true face, the one that comes on the wings of her own debilitating nightmares.

The slide of sex against sex was wet, sweet, and deliciously slow. So slow she took him all the way in . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited before gliding back up until he was nearly out of her, then back down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Before she knew it, they were climaxing together, her desperate clenching of his sex triggering John's release. And when he fell this time, they fell together, catching each other on the way down, entwined limbs. Entwined hearts.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Reason 4: Jealousy

**Reason 4: Jealousy**

(Season 5, Episode 2, The Very Long Night of Londo Mollari)

"_Speaking of going away, I got your message about Lennier. Is there anything I can do?"_

"_Almost certainly not."_

"_Is it because of me?"_

"_In part, I think so."_

"_Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, as we say back on Earth . . . three is a crowd."_

"_On Minbar, three is sacred."_

"_Well, I don't think I'm ready to handle that one, Delenn. Is there any chance you can talk him out of leaving?"_

"_No. He must follow the calling of his heart."_

"_And if he's not? I mean if he's just running away to avoid the situation here?"_

"_The universe will teach him what he needs to know."_

"_Yeah, I guess."_

John couldn't help but replay the conversation he had with his wife yesterday at Londo's bedside. If things weren't already bad enough with the Centauri ambassador teetering on the edge of life and death, Lennier was leaving today.

John rushed down the corridor, his long strides and brisk pace not enough to catch his wife. She'd left their quarters ten minutes ago, determined to see Lennier off. Not that the aide had bothered saying his own goodbye the night before, making for a very morose Delenn, their evening meal unusually quiet. And John didn't even want to think about the cold shoulder she'd given him when they'd turned in for the night. Suffice to say, she wasn't in the mood for any under the covers exploration.

Now, John Sheridan found himself tracking his wife as she went to meet another man.

John almost tripped on that thought. Since when did he begin thinking of Lennier in that way? The Minbari had always registered as nothing more to John than Delenn's very reliable, if not overly willing to please, aide. Hell, sometimes John would forget the man was in the same room, his quiet demeanor and nonobtrusive stance making it easy to discount the man as anything more than a capable wallflower.

But there was more to Mr. Lennier. The small Minbari male possessed layers and had an emotional depth he kept firmly under control.

Perhaps this was what John had come to recognize, Lennier's mask over the last few months slowly cracking as John and Delenn drew closer together.

John reflected more, his strides unconsciously slowing but never stopping.

An image of Lennier suddenly came to John. It was the day he'd returned from death, from Z'ha'dum. To most he must've appeared to be a ghost, or maybe even a figment of their imagination, for no sane person ever survived Z'ha'dum. And that was true. Part of John Sheridan did not make it off that hellish planet.

Then Delenn was there, on the catwalk with him, her hands wrapped around him, face buried in his chest. And John knew at that very moment, he was well and truly alive. For his heart had never pumped so hard and fast.

As he held the woman who'd he cheated death to get back to, John peered down at the stunned crowd below and caught Lennier's eyes. And while the others below stared at John with a mix of awe, confusion, and relief, Lennier's eyes reminded John too much of Anna. Not the Anna he'd once married and loved, but the Shadow puppet they'd returned to him, a woman devoid of a heart, a soul.

And that was how Lennier appeared to him that day many months ago, as if the Minbari's heart and soul had been ripped from him, torn asunder by the universe, by fate, by circumstances beyond his control.

So deep in thought, John hadn't realized he'd reached his destination until he heard his wife's soft, sad voice.

"Not even a goodbye, Lennier?"

John stopped, torn between joining them or giving them the private goodbye John feared Delenn preferred . . . wanted.

"No, never goodbye. I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul. I will see you again in a little while. And with luck, I will perhaps be a better person."

With Lennier's words, a stab of something unfamiliar and unpleasant rammed straight into John's chest. The man had basically told Delenn he loved her, that he would always love her.

_Forever. _The word ricocheted around in John's mind, a bullet with no exit. John had only twenty years to give Delenn, while the younger Lennier had a lifetime . . . forever.

John shook his head and snorted. He was being stupid. Delenn had chosen him, and Lennier . . . well, he was leaving and with distance between them would eventually get over his infatuation with Delenn.

"That is not possible, Lennier," John heard Delenn reply, "but you're welcome to try. Be well . . . be good . . . my good and dear friend."

"And you."

John waited one heartbeat, two, three, four heartbeats before strolling into view, proud he could look so calm, almost as if he'd simply happened upon his wife and her former aide.

Claiming Delenn with an arm around her waist, John was surprised when that stab of pain came anew, Delenn reticent to leave. She peered over her shoulder one last time, clearly not quite believing that Lennier had actually left Babylon 5 . . . left her.

An hour later, John had a naked Delenn in his arms, on their bed, under his sweaty body. Both were panting heavily, him more than her.

"John," she cried out when he raised those pretty legs of hers and hoisted them over his shoulders, slipping in so deep he cried out as well.

Then the panting increased, his chest heaving as he pumped for all he was worth, the depth too damn good for words. Not that John had enough breath to spare, so he merely grunted and grunted and grunted some more.

Grunting seemed to work for Delenn, her "Yes, just like that," turning the grunts into growls.

God, the woman had reduced him to caveman babble. And he did feel like a caveman, having virtually attacked his wife and dragged her into their bedroom after they'd returned to his quarters. That pain he refused to name had been doing a number on his chest, the trek from the docking bay torturous, Delenn uncharacteristically somber.

John knew the source of her melancholy, though. Hell, he understood, he missed Susan, thought about her often, and they talked whenever their schedules allowed.

But John wasn't naïve enough to believe that his relationship with Susan was the same as the one Delenn shared with Lennier. In many respects, Lennier was Delenn's best friend. He not only organized much of her life and stood between her and all others, Lennier also harbored Delenn's secrets. And that last fact rankled, if not hurt.

_I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul._

Another growl then a shout of "You're mine," preceded John's orgasm, muscles tight, body leaning over Delenn as he moved harder, faster, accepting her gentle kisses and soft caresses as he released himself into her.

As he lay sprawled across their bed, long body taking up more than his share, John turned to see his wife eyeing him with curious speculation.

God, she was so beautiful, especially with her hair tousled and body smelling of their lovemaking.

_I'm yours forever, Delenn. Heart, body, and soul._

The damn stab of pain came again, and this time, John couldn't ignore. It had a name, one he didn't like or often experienced. But he knew what it was, knew it was irrational and his concerns groundless.

_Jealousy. _The vile three-syllable word slipped free of its' confines, Delenn's unwavering stare and sweetly probing hand on his cheek, fueling the ache in his heart.

Then she smiled, as warm and loving as he'd ever seen. "Of course I'm yours, John." She kissed him, not with passion, just a simple caressing of lips. "You are a strange man, John Sheridan." She slipped from the bed, heading toward the bathroom. "Even for a human," she said, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind her. A few moments passed and John heard the telltale signs of a shower.

_Strange?_ Yeah, jealousy tended to do that to a man. But Delenn was his, and no amount of Ranger training on Lennier's part would ever change that very real, very absolute fact.

_Three is sacred. _John pushed the bathroom door open, the steam from the shower rising. No, the Minbari got that wrong. Three is just damn inconvenient.

"May I join you?"

Delenn moved up, granting him space to slide in behind her.

John took the soap and began lathering his wife's back, the blue mark that ran from her neck to the base of her back beautiful and sinfully sensitive to a mate's touch.

John kissed her shoulder, then moved his hand lower, one finger tracing the path of the blue streak, Delenn's center of pleasure number five.

No, three was not sacred. With Delenn, two would always be enough, perfect.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Reason 5: Making Up

**Reason 5: Making-Up**

(Season 5, Episode 5, Learning Curve)

"I'm going to pretend you were going to tell me this sooner or later." Delenn's back was to John; apparently, the cold shoulder not just a human custom.

And she'd taken this position right after he'd finished explaining that Elizabeth Lochley, the new Captain of Babylon 5, John's personal selection to replace Susan Ivanova, was indeed his first wife.

John learned a while ago that a quiet Delenn was so much worse than a vocal one. Screaming, crying . . . hell, even scratching and biting were preferable to this. How can a man defend himself against a woman who was trying desperately not to lash out at him? To control her own seething anger and pain in exchange for inner peace and understanding?

"I was just looking for the right time?" Even as the words were spoken, John wondered if he was being completely honest with Delenn, with himself. He'd had ample time to tell Delenn of his first marriage. It just never seemed that important, not in comparison to what he'd found with Delenn, and not in light of all the universe-changing events they always seemed to be embroiled in. But surely he should've owned up to it once he decided to make Lochley the offer.

"Ten seconds after you thought of it would have been good."

"Yeah, maybe so." She was right, so why hadn't he told her? His first marriage was a serious mistake, one he'd ran fast and far from for so many years. Hell, Anna didn't even know about Lochley. And didn't that just make John feel like an even bigger ass.

He looked over his left shoulder at Delenn. She had their covers pulled tightly to her, only her head and one beautiful shoulder visible. Yeah, she was definitely giving off the don't-even-think-about-touching-me-tonight vibe.

And if that wasn't enough, Delenn scooted farther away from him when John turned fully onto his back.

"Are you going to be alright?" He had to ask. The frost between them was thick; the pain in every rigid set of Delenn's body was painful to see, made worst by the knowledge that he was the one who'd caused it.

"I think so. It will just take some getting used to."

She waved the light off then, effectively ending their conversation.

Frustrated with himself, John returned to his side, waving off his own nightstand lamp, plunging them into a darkness John never thought he would feel with Delenn.

And the silence in the room stretched between them, John unable to sleep. He should have told Delenn the truth a long time ago. And now he wondered if Delenn was upset because he'd withheld the truth of his marriage in general, or because he'd brought his first wife onboard and passed Lochley off as nothing more than an old military acquaintance. Or was it that he'd given in to Lochley's request to keep their marriage a secret from everyone, including his wife, in spite of Delenn's right to know?

John gave an inward sigh. In truth, the answer was probably a combination of all those things. A marriage, no matter how ill-advised wasn't something a husband should keep from his wife. This John knew. But the longer he took to tell Delenn the truth, the harder it became for him to do what he knew was right.

Delenn was no stranger to mistakes. Hell, since their marriage, she'd shared her deepest ones with him. Trusted him to know that her mistakes were her own, and while they did not define her, the lessons she'd learned from them were a part of her.

And perhaps that was it. John shifted to his left side, his wife's back still to him. Perhaps, for Delenn, it boiled down to a matter of trust. For John, his secret marriage was borne of shame, a shame he'd harbored for too many years. But for Delenn, for a Minbari, for a mated couple, trust and honor trumped shame.

Being married for a third time, John was learning, did not make one an expert. It did, however, make for a reflective practitioner.

John slid closer to his wife, knowing from her soft, slow breathing that Delenn was doing a good imitation of a sleeping woman. Yeah, experience had taught him that too.

Cautiously, John raised his right hand and lifted a strand of hair off her shoulder. Pulling it back, he smelled the lilac scent of her shampoo. God, Delenn always smelled so damn good, the enticing aroma almost enough to make John forget what he wanted to say to her.

John leaned in close, his mouth right next to her ear. "I didn't mean to dishonor you, Delenn."

Delenn shifted onto her back, her eyes immediately opening and finding his own looking down at her.

He'd gotten it right. A man can learn, even if he is a bit slow to catch the obvious. In not telling Delenn about Lochley, about the youthful error that was his first marriage, in essence, according to Minbari way of thinking, he didn't trust Delenn enough to understand that everyone makes mistakes and are deserving of understanding, even forgiveness. Believing his wife would judge him unfairly and putting Lochley's concerns above that of his wife's because it was a convenient excuse to keep silent, John dishonored his wife. While an unintentional act to be sure, but no less harmful, no less hurtful.

"I should've been less afraid and trusted you more." Funny that, John had thought the same thing when he'd spent those agonizing days aboard the White Star with a brain dead, Shadow-controlled Anna.

Delenn reached for him, her tiny, warm hand finding his cheek. "I understand such fear, John; indeed, I've lived it and have no desire to experience it again." She stroked his cheek, short languid movements that sent shivers to all the right parts of John's body. "But I doubt the universe will be so cooperative. Life never is, nor should we expect otherwise."

John turned into that sweetly caressing hand, his mouth finding the palm and kissing. "I can't fall asleep, honey, not with this between us."

She nodded. "Nor can I, but—"

"You're still upset with me."

Another nod.

John knew that, but at least she was speaking to him, the frost between them having melted some in the two-hours they both pretended to be asleep. But that wasn't enough; John wanted it completely gone. No way would he allow a stupid decision from the past and an even stupider one a few months ago to ruin even one night with Delenn. No, John thought, he would have too few of them as it was. He wouldn't waste any, not even one.

John moved the kiss from her palm to the inside of her arm, slowly licking a path up to her shoulder.

"John, I—"

"I know, honey," And he did. Women weren't like men. A man felt closer to his woman by being close to her, making love to her. Whereas, a woman felt closer to her man when her mind, her emotions were first engaged, her body slower to respond. But once it responded . . .

John settled over top of Delenn, her thighs instinctively parting for him. And God, had she always felt this good, like home and heaven.

He kissed her neck, a slide of lip, tongue, and teeth. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, giving Delenn time to accept the pleasure he so desperately wanted to give her.

Sex could never replace a heartfelt apology or true contrition. Nor could it make one forget the pain, the hurt, the anger. But for a moment, for timeless minutes, it could take them to a place where they'd only ever been together. Yes, a fantastical realm where nothing and no one existed but John and Delenn—no Lochley, no Babylon 5, no Interstellar Alliance, no secrets, no twenty-year lifespan. Just them. Their bodies. Their heat. Their love.

Eventually she began to relax, her body softening, accepting him without words. That was okay with John. The words would come in time. For now, he would take this, take her.

"Let me," John said, finding his place between her legs again after having divested them of their night clothes, "love you, make it up to you."

He entered Delenn, a slow glide that left them both gasping, mouths hungrily seeking and finding. And they kissed with an eager, impatient passion that reminded John of their first night together.

Yes, he would make it up to Delenn, the giving of his body and the receiving of hers the first step to reconciliation.

Tomorrow, John decided on a contented, hard thrust, he would explain make-up sex to Delenn. But not tonight, no, showing was much better than telling.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Reason 6: Distraction

**Reason 6: Distraction**

(Season 5, Episode 14, Meditations on the Abyss)

"_Delenn, I don't understand why you needed to see me alone down here. I could have met you in your quarters or Council Chambers—"_

"_Someone would have seen you and asked about you. We need to be discreet. I couldn't even risk a coded transmission." _

"_Does Sheridan know?"_

"_He's probably the most important reason I'm keeping this meeting just between us." _

"_Delenn . . . what is it you want from me?"_

"_Your help. Following a trip to the Drazi Homeworld . . . Mr. Garibaldi returned with several compelling reasons to believe that the Centauri are behind the recent attacks against of the shipping lines used by the other Alliance worlds." _

"_Well, then, confront them."_

"_I said we had reason, not proof. We can't go public with what we expect until we can prove their involvement. Many of the Rangers are patrolling the shipping lines . . . but none of them have the experience with the Centauri that you and I have. So, I need you on patrol along the Centauri border . . . watching for anything suspicious. You know how they think, how they fight. If anyone can get the evidence we need, it's you." _

"_But why not tell Sheridan?"_

"_Since the death of Marcus . . . and given the danger involved . . . I think John would be reluctant to send someone close to me on a mission like this. As a friend, he would want to protect you. As my husband, he would need to protect me from anything that might happen to you." _

"_I think, in that respect, he does not know you as well as he should."_

"_He knows me. But he also loves me. And sometimes the one gets in the way of the other." _

"_Yes, I imagine it could do that."_

Delenn replayed her conversation with Lennier over and over in her head. She had just sent her very good friend on a most dangerous mission. It was for the greater good, she knew, but Delenn didn't want to even entertain the thought of something awful happening to Lennier. A cold shudder went through her and she stoically pushed the foreboding thought from her mind.

He'd told her that Morden had come to him during the Brakiri Day of the Dead ritual. Morden, a Shadow puppet, had apparently convinced Lennier he would betray the Rangers. Delenn shook her head, refusing to dwell on that impossibility either. And it was impossible. Lennier represented the best of Minbar—loyalty, dedication, bravery.

Delenn entered her quarters, absently unbuttoning and removing her hooded cloak, the one that kept her identity a secret when she'd made her way to meet Lennier in Down Below. The very last thing she needed was to be recognized and have John find out. It was bad enough some foul man had dared touch her, thinking his superior size gave him privilege over a woman he'd believed to be his inferior. But Lennier was there, as she knew he would be, and he'd proven his loyalty to her once again.

He was indeed the perfect Ranger for the job. And while Delenn knew his leaving and joining the Anla'shok was motivated for all the wrong reasons, even she couldn't deny how naturally he'd seemed to adapt to his training, how much he'd accomplished in only a few short months.

But still . . . he was indeed pushing himself too hard. And a part of her, a selfish part of Delenn, wished he was still the timid acolyte who'd first arrived on Babylon 5 nearly five years ago. But no, that Lennier was long gone, and Delenn could never deny Lennier his growth, his desire to be more, to define himself on his own terms.

So with little choice, she'd let him go, praying for his safety, while lamenting the inevitable altering of their friendship. And it had changed, as she knew it would when she'd decided to take John Sheridan as her mate, her husband.

Delenn slipped out of her shoes, and walked as softly as possible as to not awake John. It was still early, but not quite time to begin the day.

She opened the sliding bedroom doors, expecting to see John asleep. Instead, his nightstand lamp was on and he was sitting up, wide awake.

She should have known.

"You've been gone quite a while, Delenn, I was beginning to worry."

She had been. And she would've been away even longer if Lennier had stayed and talked as she'd requested. Valen, she truly did miss his presence in her life, his easy friendship and quiet, dignified strength.

Delenn placed her shoes in the closet and looked at her husband. She felt a pang of guilt for her deception. She hadn't lied to him when he'd asked where she was going. She had, in fact, left paperwork in her quarters she needed for today's Council meeting. But she had done so deliberately, giving herself a convenient excuse in case she needed one. And while it wasn't quite a lie, according to Minbari standards, Delenn understood humans well enough to know that, as they say, she was splitting hairs. Lies of omission they called it. And so it was.

"I didn't mean to worry you."

Delenn joined John in bed, and the way his mouth quirked up at the ends, she knew he had more questions. Questions she had no intention of answering. A lie of omission was one thing, but outright lying was something different entirely. She would not do that, however . . .

She straddled his legs. "It pleases me that you decided to wait up for me instead of going back to sleep."

He raised one questioning eyebrow at her deliberately seductive tone, then a slow, masculine smile began to form, spreading from his lips, up his cheeks, and settling in his sparkling, knowing eyes.

"We should've gone together. I don't know what I was thinking letting you go out so late by yourself."

She gave him her most sensual smile and began a slow glide down his solidly pleasing body, pressing all of her against all of him. "But we're together now, John."

He gasped when she slipped her hand in his boxers and began to stroke him the way he liked.

"Ah, that we are, honey. Are you sure you w-want to do this now?"

"As you humans say, there's no better time than the present."

"Oh—well, if you in-insist."

And she did; now being the perfect time.

Then hand gave way to mouth, finding and sucking pleasure center number one.

"Good, god, Delenn, you drive a man to d-istrac-tion."

Exactly.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Reason 7: Guilt

**Reason 7: Guilt**

(Season 5, Episode 18: The Fall of Centauri Prime)

Centauri Prime

John Sheridan, President of the Interstellar Alliance, former Captain of Babylon 5, survivor of Z'ha'dum, and liberator of Earth from President Clark's despotic regime, was, after all was said and done, nothing more than a man. A reluctant hero with too many tragedies surrounding and following him—a mere mortal man with a heart that only now beat because of her.

The sky was clear of Drazi and Narn warships now. The bombing of civilian targets had ceased a few hours ago, and now there was nothing but stillness and quiet. John had never imagined there could be anything that would still the wagging, boisterous tongue of a sober or drunk Centauri, but Centauri Prime was deathly quiet now. Crackling from the fires that still raged were the only sounds brave enough to break through the darkness of the night, the rising sun not having shown its morning glory.

But what would it shine its glory over? A burning Centauri Prime? Thousands of dead Centauri citizens? A proud, arrogant, but defeated people? An unwanted Human "guest" who could do nothing but stare at the charred sky waiting . . . waiting for her?

"Londo assured us that they had found her ship."

John turned away from the window, his hands in his pockets the only thing keeping them from shaking uncontrollably.

"I know, but that was hours ago."

"These things take time, John, and neither one of us knows exactly how far Delenn's White Star traveled off her intended route to Minbar when she was attacked."

G'Kar's words were logical, his voice calm. Indeed, the man had been a godsend since John arrived. But the fact that he'd only referred to him by John and not Mr. President since being escorted by Centauri guards to the quarters Londo provided for John, was telling. Yet, it was the red, shadowed eyes that truly gave G'Kar away. He was just as concerned about Delenn and Lennier as John.

And they had waited together, pacing, watching the sky, but doing little talking. No, there wasn't much to say. The knowledge that a loved one may never return was a familiar truth for the both of them, neither wishing to revisit the experience but knowing the universe rarely catered to anyone's wishes.

"I know, it's just . . . the wait is killing me." That wasn't the only thing that was killing him. "It's my fault that she was out there. That she may be—"

G'Kar vehemently shook his head.

"You don't understand, G'Kar. I asked her to go to Minbar to speak personally with the Grey Council." John ran a weary hand through his hair, his mouth suddenly dry. "I had an idea about a military alliance between Earth and Minbar, and—"

"You knew Delenn was the only person who could broker such a deal with the Grey Council. I understand, John, it was sound reasoning."

John snorted. "Sound reasoning, G'Kar? What kind of man puts his wife in danger? Sends her out knowing that Centauri ships are on the prowl, waiting to take out any ship in their path?"

G'Kar made to speak but John continued. "No, no, G'Kar, I'm to blame for all of this. She would've been safe on Babylon 5 if I had just—"

"Just what, John? Coddled her? Treated her as if she wasn't Entilzha and decisions about the Rangers specifically, and the White Stars in general, go through her? Ignore that with me and Londo here, you two were the only active founding members of the Interstellar Alliance that would have any chance of preventing even more bloodshed?" G'Kar took two steps toward John and placed a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder. "She is more than the both of us, John. You must never forget that."

John knew G'Kar's words were the truth. His mind had told him the same thing these long hours of waiting, but his heart . . . "She's my wife."

He walked away from G'Kar, and returned to his spot near the window. There was nothing else to say. Delenn was indeed the perfect and worst person for the mission. He knew it would be dangerous, traveling during a time of war. But he'd convinced himself that all would be well, knowing Delenn's White Star crew, along with Lennier, would see that no harm came to her. But he had been wrong. So horribly wrong.

Then he saw it, the sun just beginning its ascent, illuminating the lifeless White Star.

"Delenn's White Star." It was a whisper, John could manage little more, his eyes firmly fixed on the ship trapped in a Centauri tracking beam. His eyes began to sting and his vision blurred. The ship was barely intact, huge chunks missing, the remaining hull scorched from the attack.

John couldn't think straight. That had been his wife's personal ship, the one that had seen many fights and lived to fly again. But what John saw through his tears was utterly destroyed, a dead vessel that probably held the remains of its dead crew. His wife.

_God, Delenn, what have I done to you?_

John dashed to the door, needing to know, needing to see for himself. But massive, unyielding arms caught him, contained him in a way that only a Narn could.

"No good can come of this, John. Besides, those Centauri guards out there won't let you pass unless Londo gives them orders to do so. And if you give them reason, _any reason_, they will kill you. This, John, I know with a certainty."

And so did John. As far as the Centauri were concerned, he had ordered the attack on their Homeworld, was responsible for the deaths of thousands of men, women, and children. They would kill him, but . . .

"I have to know, G'Kar. I have to know if I still have a wife." _If I killed my wife. _

G'Kar loosened his grip, then finally released John, who just managed to find a plush chair to sit in before his legs betrayed him.

"I can't lose her, G'Kar. I can't—not like this—I'm the one who's supposed to die, not her. Never Delenn."

His head dropped, and John could do nothing but stare at the floor, the guilt and grief nearly enough to unhinge him. But there was hope. Surely Londo wouldn't be so cruel. If he knew Delenn to be dead, he would tell him, right? In spite of everything, the war and the fall of Centauri Prime, Delenn was Londo's friend.

John had no idea how long he sat like that, vaguely hearing G'Kar speaking to someone in the background. Then the door swooshed opened, a soft, gentle sound that registered only as unimportant background noise.

Then the voice came, sweet, familiar, alive.

"John."

His head snapped up, the tears having dried long ago, leaving streaks where loss had been.

"John."

That sound again, but more, the woman herself.

"Delenn?"

In the time it took for G'Kar to exit, a relieved smile on his face, was all it had taken for John to reach Delenn, his arms going immediately around her. And he hugged her like he'd never hugged anyone in his life—hard and fierce.

"I thought you were—" he began, but stopped. He didn't want to give his fears voice. He'd thought them enough.

"I know, John. I know."

Of course she did. And John knew he was crushing her small body, but he just couldn't bring himself to care, or to release her. She was warm, she was here, she was safe. Her clothes and face were dirty, she smelled of fire, fumes, and sweat, and John thought Delenn had never looked more beautiful.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I should have never—"

"Shh, it's all right, John. I'm here. We're together, and I'm fine."

Now it was her hugging him, doing the soothing. How in the hell did she do that? She was the one that nearly perished, yet, here she was, tending to his frightened, guilty heart.

"Are you sure, you're fine, honey? Do you need anything?" Taking a steadying breath, John let his wife go and took three steps back, his eyes taking her all in. To John's relief she appeared to be physically unharmed. But pain wasn't always physical. And John had seen the massive damage to her ship, many of her crew could not have survived that. In truth, John didn't know how Delenn had.

"I'm unharmed, John, just a few minor scratches, a bruise or two, but nothing more." She reached for him, and he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing. She smiled; it was weak but sincere. "Please stop looking at me as if I'm some sort of illusion, John, and will disappear if you dare to blink." She placed her other hand on his cheek. "You promised me twenty years, John Sheridan, and I intend to be here to collect every one of them."

She smiled again, and so did he. But she had nearly died because he'd sent her on a mission. John wouldn't soon—if ever—forget that. Yes, she was Entilzha. Yes, she was former Satai. Yes, she was intelligent, brave, and formidable beyond measure. But Delenn was still a mere woman, as John was a mere man. His woman. His wife.

Guilt, John mused, helping his wife remove her clothing, then preparing a shower for her, didn't have to be rational. It simply was. And John knew it would be quite some time before the guilt of today would begin to ebb.

His wife's, "Stop brooding and help me wash," cut through the silence that had descended between them.

"It's not your fault, John."

He said nothing, simply removed his suit and joined Delenn in the shower.

John washed her slowly, lingering in all the spots she liked, grateful to have been given another opportunity with her. John fiercely pushed back the thought of how he would've managed to go on without her. Honestly, he didn't think he would manage well at all. Anna's death was hard enough, but Delenn . . . well, a man can only take so much and be expected to remain sane. John knew, without a doubt, he would never survive if something ever happened to Delenn.

"John, what is it?"

Delenn wiped his cheeks, John unaware he had begun to cry until she'd done so. And more tears threatened, the stress of the war, the guilt of having to put everything and everyone above his wife too much. Too much.

He kissed her, ignoring her surprised yelp when his lips landed hard and unforgiving against her own. He needed this, needed Delenn, needed to assure himself that she was still his and didn't blame him. But of course, Delenn would never blame him. Maybe she should. Or perhaps his blame was enough for the both of them.

She kissed him back, her reply hungry and all-consuming. That was Delenn, giving and taking with a passion that never ceased to amaze John. And she was amazing, her fire, her spirit, her untamable determination.

John knew from the relentless way she touched him, accepted him inside her body with little preparation, that Delenn wasn't as all right as she would like for John to believe. And while John would eventually get the whole story out of her, it wasn't hard to guess that Delenn had come closer to death than she wanted him to know, and while she would accept such a fate, it had clearly unnerved her.

That was fine; it had unnerved him as well. But like she'd said, they were here together. They had survived, and would go on.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry._ John knew better than to utter that apology again. Delenn would hear none of it. Instead, he simply whispered another truth, their bodies hot and slick from their lovemaking. "I love you, Delenn."

But she didn't hear him. She was already asleep, and John didn't dare wake her. Besides, Londo's coronation was in a couple of hours and they would stay for the ceremony. Yes, John would let his wife sleep; she'd more than earned the rest. And at least, this time, he was here to watch over her, keep her safe.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note: **Okay, I'm one-third of the way through. I'm interested in knowing what you think so far. Is this a guilty pleasure you would like for me to continue?


	8. Reason 8: Pregnant

**Reason 8: Pregnant**

(Season 5, Episode 19: The Wheel of Fire)

_You're pregnant, Delenn. _Dr. Franklin's words six hours ago. Delenn could still hear them, feel the surreal jolt of disbelief surge through her, taste the sugary sweetness of the miracle on her numb tongue.

_You're pregnant, Delenn. _Words she'd thought she would never hear. A dream she didn't dare have, a prayer that seemed beyond reach, beyond hope, beyond faith, beyond her.

And there in laid the sad truth.

Delenn stared at the burning candle, the flame warm, bright, and comforting.

Minbari reproduction had been steadily decreasing over the last several hundred years, so much so that Minbar would soon experience under-population if the trend continued. And, unfortunately, all evidence supported that very bleak future.

It was reasonable to assume that a thousand years from now, there would no longer be a race known as Minbari. Delenn knew her people would eventually pass beyond the rim and join the First Ones. But the thought of her people, the many flames that was Minbar, extinguishing as if they never were, was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

But she couldn't cry now. Not when her soul and heart were filled with so much happiness, so much contentment.

And Delenn realized, absorbed by the single flame, that she had never felt quite this way before. With that thought came a fleeting prickle of shame, for Delenn's faith had been weak.

Even that wasn't an accurate or totally truthful description. Her faith had simply been nonexistent.

As a full-Minbari, Delenn, like other Minbari females, had a 1 in 10 chance of reproducing. With her transformation, and mating with a full-human, those odds plummeted, in her opinion, to zero.

No one, not even Dr. Franklin thought she and John were compatible enough to create life. Yet they had.

The universe was full of surprises, Delenn mused. While she had given up hope, the universe never gave up on her, on them.

Faith managed in spite of her faithlessness, a most humbling reminder to a priestess who, while far away from home, should never forget to apply her teachings and understanding of the complex workings of life to self.

"Is there a ritual we need to perform, Delenn?" John's voice surprised her. So deep in thought, she'd forgotten he was there with her, on the other side of the candle flame.

Delenn's eyes focused and she smiled. Her husband was staring back at her, wearing that same I'm-such-a-man grin he'd had ever since Stephen announced that they were to be parents.

She was stunned. John, apparently, had passed the stunned and worried phases while she was still unconscious and had entered the proud father-to-be phase. And, based on the twinkle in his eye, he was going to be there for a good long time.

"There is a ritual, John." She laughed. "I'm Minbari, of course there's a ritual." Then she sobered, reaching across the few inches that separated them and grasped his hand. "But I never thought I would have the opportunity to engage in such a ritual."

His hand tightened over hers, and he nodded with understanding.

"But we need not complete it tonight, or even before we leave Babylon 5. If you don't mind, John, I would rather wait until we return to Minbar."

While many members of the Mir clan were still grappling with her union to a non-Minbari, Delenn still wanted them to be a part of the ritual, the ceremony that would not only confirm John's place by her side as her mate, but sanctify the trinity their union had created.

And in that moment, holding John's hand, the flame of life, death, and rebirth between them, Delenn knew that their family, their circle of life was complete. There would be no other miracles for them, just this one flame of hope, reminder of faith, light of the future.

"How do humans celebrate such an occasion, John? I would very much like to practice one of your human customs tonight."

John's smile grew even wider. Standing, John reached out a hand and helped Delenn to her feet.

"Sometimes, honey, I wish I had poetic words to explain human customs the way you explain your rituals to me. Or that my customs were as special, old, or even as well-thought out or commonly adhered to as your own. But humans are so much more diverse in customs and cultures than the Minbari with their three castes and three languages."

John's eyes lazily took in Delenn's burgundy, silk robe, the heat of them hitting Delenn everywhere they landed.

"But sometimes—" his hand slipped between the folds of her robe, untying the loose knot with gentle precision, "—simpler is better."

Delenn gulped, John tracing first her collarbone, then the space between her breasts.

He leaned in, his warm, wet tongue following the path of his finger, but going lower, capturing a nipple between his teeth and gently sucking, the soft material of her nightgown an inconsequential barrier.

"We celebrate," John said, tongue flicking out and finding her other nipple, "by doing the very thing that brought us to this happy place."

"Oh—there is something to be said for simple."

John raised his head, and lowered her gown, the silk falling to her ankles.

"That's me, honey, just a simple, human."

Delenn laughed, knowing a gross understatement when she heard one.

"Ah, but creating life where there should be none, isn't simple at all, John."

Removing his own clothing, John lowered Delenn to the floor, the dimming candle a waning flame in the shadow of their own building heat.

"True, but duplicating the process is as simple and old as the universe itself."

And it was.

Perhaps, Delenn mused as the candle winked out, allowing darkness to descend over the lovers, humans had it right.

Then again, she amended on a ragged groan, sex seemed to be the default ritual for many human ceremonies—birthdays, anniversaries, even holidays like Christmas and Valentine's Day.

And a few months back, when John was formally sworn in as President of the Interstellar Alliance, they celebrated. According to John, it was a human holiday called President's Day. In honor of that special holiday, they had made love that night too.

And while Delenn was beginning to question these so-called human holidays, she couldn't deny she enjoyed John's singular interpretation. Then she wondered how they would celebrate the birth of their miracle baby.

Then Delenn did no more questioning, no more wondering, for John's body demanded all of her attention, and this was, after all, a very special pregnancy celebration. One she would experience only once in her lifetime.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Reason 9: For Old Times' Sake

**Reason 9: For Old Time's Sake**

(Season 5, Episode 21: Objects at Rest)

John stood in the middle of his quarters, the room quiet and empty. Not just empty, he thought with a resigned nod, but barren of life. There was nothing left of him, nothing that said he'd spent the good part of four years in this place.

He turned, slowing moving in a circle, eyes going from the small but functional kitchenette to the bookshelves to the cabinets, and finally to the sparse remaining furniture. The place looked exactly the way it did when he'd first entered them, an anxious, nervous, and headstrong captain of a massive space station with a multitude of divergent races.

But the room no longer _felt _the same. Now, John thought, a half-smile crossing his features, his quarters felt like home. He laughed at that. How many times had he moved in the years since joining Earthforce? Too many. Yet and still, Babylon 5 had become home to him, the crew his family. He would miss them. Miss this place. Ironic that. A space station surrounded by nothing but darkness, built of nuts and bolts, could become as much a home to him as the green rolling knolls of his beloved Kansas farm.

Languidly, John made his way into his bedroom. It too, like the rest of his quarters was devoid of the anything that screamed _John Sheridan lived here_. No, all his personal belongings, along with the few items Delenn had brought to his quarters once they'd married, were nicely packed in boxes and stored in the cargo hold of the White Star that would soon ferry him and Delenn to Minbar.

And wasn't that more irony for John "Starkiller" Sheridan. Who would have thought human and Minbari relations would come so far after such a long-fought and brutal war? Never in his wildest imaginings; yet, here he was actually looking forward to living there, having completely and gloriously fallen in love with a Minbari.

And not just any Minbari but a former member of the Grey Council. The very Council that voted to bring war to Earth's front door after their leader was tragically killed by a human. And so began the Earth-Minbari War. Yet two decades later, the once warring nations had laid aside old differences, enough so that Minbar agreed to allow the Interstellar Alliance to build its headquarters on the isolationist planet, accepting humans and other races into their society. Even him.

Many things had changed, John admitted, sitting on the bed, the simple, standard Babylon 5 quilt covering the mattress. He had changed. So had Delenn.

And like she knew he was thinking of her, John heard the soft swoosh of silk fabric after the front door opened and she walked inside.

"John?"

"In the bedroom, honey."

Sliding the door farther open, Delenn entered. The smile she gave him was sweet and all for him. God, he loved this woman. Sometimes it frightened him how much this petite woman had weaved her way into his mind, heart, and soul.

John held his hand out to her, and she came, settling on his sturdy lap.

"The crew is almost ready for our departure. Perhaps another hour or so." Delenn ran her hand through his hair, then admitted, "This station is the only place I've lived outside of Minbar and the Valen'tha. Surprisingly, it feels much like home."

While John wasn't surprised that Delenn, too, felt that Babylon 5 was her home, as much as it had become his, he was always shocked by her lack of other world experience. Hell, he often forgot that Delenn's only true experience with races other than her own only came when she left home for Babylon 5.

He brought the roving hand to his mouth and kissed it. The seamless way she interacted with people so different from herself was nothing short of amazing. Although John was sure Delenn would argue the contrary, she had the type of diplomacy that was more natural than taught. Over the last four years, John had met enough Minbari—including those of her caste—to know that such decorum, patience, ferocity, and intelligence in the face of cultural diversity weren't universal Minbari traits. No, Delenn was unique in ways that went far beyond her partial human appearance.

"I know what you mean, honey." He smiled when Delenn resumed playing with his hair, an unconscious act he'd grown to not only enjoy but to look forward to.

He and Delenn had grown even closer after their marriage, sharing old and deep secrets. His wife was not only a good listener but possessed not one judgmental bone in her body. She was all about learning from one's mistakes, seeing the universe in a glowing spectrum of paths and choices. Sometimes one took the wrong path, made a disastrous choice, but there were always other paths, others choices to set one back on the true path.

"I'm not the man I was when I came here. I was," he stared into Delenn's eyes, all her attention on him, "sad . . . lost." It was an honest but painful admission. But if anyone could understand all those two words meant, it would be Delenn.

"I am not the same either, John. I wasn't sad or lost when I arrived on Babylon 5; indeed, I was very clear of my purpose." She shifted on his lap, her bottom suddenly flush against a part of him he was trying to ignore. "But I was afraid, even unsure at times."

Delenn didn't seem like the unsure type. Sure, he'd seen her afraid, sad even. But she'd always come off as if she knew exactly what she was about. Hell, John relied on her self-assurance more often than he could count, had gone in search of her when he was confused, wanting nothing more than to breathe in her confidence.

"Not until I met you, though, did I realize how lonely I was. How lonely I had been since my father and Dukhat died." Delenn shifted again, her arms wrapping around John's neck. "It is unfortunate indeed, John, when one can feel lonely in a temple full of caste and clan, a station filled with thousands of people. But with you, with one human male, my loneliness vanished; vanquished each time we talked, walked, and laughed."

And that was so Minbari of her. Minbari may avoid, redirect, and prevaricate, but when they decided to speak from the heart, they were unashamedly honest.

"Aren't we a pair? Lonely and lost, no wonder we were drawn to each other. Or maybe it was fate."

"You don't believe in fate."

John considered all he'd experienced over the last four years. "Like I said, Delenn, I'm not the same man I was. There is still so much I can't begin to explain; even more I don't even want to think about." He wrapped his arms around her slim waist, reminding himself that in a few short months, Delenn's body would begin to change, making room for their growing child. "But I can't deny all that I've seen, all that I've felt. Since that day you walked into the Council chamber and removed your white hood, I knew . . . _I knew_ you would forever be a part of me."

"You knew?"

"My heart did, my mind . . . well, that took much longer to convince."

"Yes, I remember." She laughed.

"Well, yeah, I was a soldier. Soldiers have hard, doubting heads. But I thought about you often."

She smiled again, nestling her head on his shoulder. "You did?"

This they had never talked about, not that he couldn't share it with her but it was just so damn embarrassing.

John glanced back at his old bed, then settled them both on top of it, John stretched on his side, Delenn facing him.

"I had dreams of you, honey." She arched what would've been an eyebrow if she'd had one. Ignoring her silent tease, John went on. "Human males dream about women they . . . ah . . . women they want to—"

"Be intimate with."

John cleared his throat. "Yes." Delenn was no dummy. She may have been sexually inexperienced when they finally consummated their marriage, but she was no damn innocent. And John didn't even want to know where she got her information. Some things were better left unsaid between a man and his wife.

"What kind of dreams?" Delenn scooted closer to him, her eyes wide and sensually wicked. She could truly be naughty when she wanted.

"Dreams that ended with my hand down my boxers, wishing it was you doing the stroking."

She laughed; a sexy, husky sound that sent shivers of masculine heat down his spine. Then she was touching him, slim fingers opening then removing his suit jacket. Those nimble fingers wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt and slipping inside.

She kissed his bare chest. "What else did you dream of us doing on this bed of yours, John?"

"So much," he moaned. Her tongue laved his neck, hand having shimmied inside his now open pants and—yes—stroking him the way he dreamed. She was so good at this, her hand just firm enough without being painful. The Delenn of his dreams had known as well, cupping and gripping him in just the right way, up and down, up and down, up and down until he exploded all over her hand. Sometimes in her hungry, wet mouth.

"I wanted to take you in this bed the second and third night of sleep watching. I wanted to rip your robes off, pull you down under me, and bury myself so deep inside you until you came all over me and my sheets."

Damn he was so hard now. Between her mind-numbing hand job and thoughts of old, John was on an orgasm precipice.

Delenn laughed again, all naughty girl and knowing woman. "We've done that already." She raised herself over him, mouth moving to his. "Many times in fact," she whispered.

Oh yes they had. And John had enjoyed each and every encounter.

Delenn released John, then quickly straddled his legs before he could utter a disappointed sigh.

She bent down to his ear, first rimming the shell with her tongue, then saying, her voice oozing lascivious invitation, "We still have an hour, John, we can revisit your dreams if you like."

Not giving her a chance to reconsider her offer, and the likelihood that some well-meaning member of her crew would come looking for them if they were late, John flipped Delenn over and divested her of her clothing, his wife laughing the entire time. That is, until he entered her. Then there was no more laughing, only satisfied and urging moans.

"For old time's sake."

She said nothing, but the bed squeaked and that was response enough for John.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:** That ends the Babylon 5 part of the series. We're off to Minbar and the next nineteen years of their marriage. While the chapters are short stories unto themselves, they are also meant to blend together, highlighting various events in John and Delenn's marriage.


	10. Reason 10: New Home

**Reason 10: New Home (Minbar, 2262)**

John kissed Delenn on her lips before gently placing her back on her feet. He smiled down at her, all the anxiety from his near-death experience and Lennier's betrayal hidden behind his boyish smile. They were finally on Minbar, in their new home. The home John had, surprisingly, refused to allow her to enter without being carried by him.

Humans were indeed strange and, John Sheridan, as he kept proving, seemed to be the strangest of them all. Between his hand washing of socks, to his odd sleeping noises, to his obsession with barely-there night apparel, being married to a human, Delenn was learning, was a constant lesson in cultural patience and understanding.

"I want to check out the place," John said, sounding anxious, even enthusiastic.

This pleased Delenn; and she fervently hoped he liked their new home.

Delenn turned to the housekeeper, who was still staring at John as if he had horns sticking from his forehead. She sighed; humans were an acquired taste, especially for someone who'd never met one before. The poor worker caste woman's mouth was agape, eyes wide, probably wondering what in Valen had possessed the human to scoop a perfectly-abled Delenn into the air and "carry her across the threshold."

Delenn could sympathize with the housekeeper. John had no idea how much of an imposing figure he could be with his tall, confident, and yes, less than tactful approach to some things.

The first year or so would be one of delicate and critical adjustment, for John, for Delenn, for the Alliance, for the Rangers, for all of Minbar. Delenn was not foolish or naïve enough to believe the transition would be anything other than difficult. But she and John were determined to make it work, and so they would. But first . . .

"Ray'lal, would you please handle organizing the unloading of our ship? I have assigned several Rangers to help you. They and the other workers will be under your guidance. I trust you received the more detailed instructions I sent you earlier in the week."

Ray'lal nodded, having finally closed her mouth, eyes focused now on Delenn instead of John.

Ray'lal bowed deeply and took her leave.

Delenn turned to see John smiling at her.

"I guess I'll have to get used to that."

"Used to what?"

"Being gawked at as if I'm some uncouth, hairy beast from across the universe come to steal the pretty, Minbari princess."

Delenn wanted to wince but reframed. John's words came out light, playful even, but Delenn could sense the sting of pain hidden behind the too accurate sentiment.

He shrugged. "At least your people accepted the ISA. I guess, in time, they'll accept me as well."

Another sting. Delenn knew Ray'lal did not mean to be rude. In fact, Delenn had interviewed over a dozen people for the post of housekeeper. Ray'lal was experienced, competent, and much more liberal in her thinking than the other candidates. True, she had never been off-planet, but most from the worker caste had not.

Delenn would have preferred to hire someone with experience and personal knowledge of other races, particularly humans, but Minbari so rarely left home. So Delenn had to use other criteria, the ability to speak, write, and read English proficiently at the top of her list. Although, admittedly, the entire conversation Delenn had just had with her housekeeper had been in Andronato. This was done more for the woman's comfort, although, Delenn reminded herself, this was John's home and his language, if no place else, should be spoken here. She must remember that.

"Your language is beautiful, Delenn, I really must make it my mission to learn more of it."

"It takes time. But I'm sure, with full immersion, you'll be speaking it like a native Minbari."

"I doubt that." He winked. "Just ask my tenth grade Spanish teacher."

John turned in a complete circle, then said, "How about a tour of the place? I'm anxious to see."

Delenn's stomach fluttered; a nervous feeling she hadn't had since their wedding day, then their wedding night. In fact, if Delenn recalled correctly, John was the only one to ever have this effect on her, beginning with their first "date" at the Fresh Aire.

"Oh, by the way," John said, giving Delenn the folder he'd been holding for the last hour, "this is for you. I thought it would be better for you to read than for me to try to explain. Once our stuff is unpacked, I have a couple of data crystals with some other human traditions and customs."

"Human traditions and customs?"

He looked about the long foyer, the living room at the end of the wide hall. "Yeah, you know, stuff you probably can't find in all those databases you're so fond of using for research."

Delenn frowned, unable to imagine what could be on the sheets of paper John had handed her or those data crystals that she didn't already know.

"Like what, John? I've read all about St. Patrick's Day, winter and summer solstice, summer vacations, Leap Year, Secretary's Day, and a host of other rituals and celebrations I couldn't begin to understand or think you would be remotely interested in celebrating here."

"True," John said, walking away from her, "I could give a damn about Leap Year. And it's Administrative Assistant's Day. They hate to be called 'secretaries.'But," he rounded the corner, his voice still clear, "those aren't the type of human traditions I'm talking about. The ones I'm interested in are a bit . . . more obscure for the databases. Just read, honey, and catch up when you're done."

And with that, John was gone, his voice trailing then stopping.

Delenn looked at the folder in her hand and frowned. While she knew she had no right to complain about unusual rituals, John had a way of introducing her to the oddest human customs, ones that either made her blush, laugh, or frown. Glancing at the folder again, Delenn wondered which she would do when she read the contents.

Following behind John, Delenn opened the folder and began to read.

_Weddings in the days of yore sometimes followed kidnappings. This explains not only the role of the best man but also why the bride and groom customarily leave the wedding celebration before everyone else. It's symbolic of the groom stealing away with his bride, whisking her from her family and into a new life with him. The kidnapping theme also explains why grooms carry their brides over the threshold in some cultures. In Medieval __Europe__, carrying a bride into her new home prevented her from seeming too enthusiastic about losing her virginity. By picking her up and taking her into their home, the groom provided an alibi for his wife's chastity._

Delenn turned the corner John had a minute earlier, a frown beginning to form the more she read. She heard him in the living room and followed, eyes plastered to the papers in her hand.

_Interestingly, this isn't the only origin and rationale for a groom carrying his bride across the threshold after their wedding. It appears that this custom also developed in other cultures for different reasons. Chief among these reasons was to thwart bad luck and evil spirits._

_ Superstitious__ Western Europeans believed that a bride who tripped over the threshold of her new home would irrevocably bring bad luck to her home and __marriage__. Since the husband appears to have been immune from such happenstance, the groom carrying the bride into the home proved a good way to avoid such a mishap altogether. This fear of tripping appears to have its roots in ancient Roman culture, which held a similar belief._

She looked up at her husband. He was taking in the room. It was quite spacious, an open room plan Delenn thought John would enjoy after so many years confined to small living quarters. Windows abounded, letting in the late evening sun. It was a perfect spot to watch the moons rise over the acres of exquisitely manicured lawn and crystal structure of the ISA headquarters.

And if John walked out onto the deck and down one-flight of steps, he would find a lift that would take him to the sub-basement. The sub-basement was an alternate, secured route that led from their home to the ISA, a five-minute underground shuttle ride. But she would show him that later.

_Pan-culturally, brides seem to be considered lightning rods for misfortune. In addition to being susceptible to bad luck, brides' bodies also supposedly provide great havens for unattached spirits. __Spirit intrusion__ is the notion that the spirits of the dead or living can live on unattached to their physical bodies and are thus able to enter the bodies of others. Once inside, a spirit can wreak havoc on the possessed, generating physical and mental illness._

_Belief in spirit intrusion continues in some cultures today, although it was much more widespread in the ancient world. In many of these early cultures, the threshold of the home was thought to be rife with unattached spirits. A bride was considered particularly vulnerable to spirit intrusion, especially through the soles of her feet. By carrying her into their home, the groom was covering all his bases by ensuring his new wife didn't bring along any unwanted spiritual guests into the house._

Delenn closed the folder, she and John now in his home office.

"That's why you carried me?"

He was sitting behind his desk, rectangular in shape with a bright wood finish. Delenn researched human desks, and while they varied in size, purpose, and composition, she went with a design very familiar to John."

"It's just like my presidential desk back on Babylon 5." He rose and walked towards her, leaving his suit jacket on the back of the desk chair. He glanced around the office, all dark blues and gray, so different from the rest of the house. "You got everything right."

He pulled Delenn to him, his long, strong arms going around her waist. "You did all of this with very little input from me."

Yes she had. John had agreed to move to Minbar instead of Earth. While Delenn had no desire to live anywhere other than Minbar, if John wanted to spend the time he had left on Earth, she would have gladly gone with him.

Instead, he'd chosen to come and live on her Homeworld, knowing this would be his last home. And with that thought, Delenn wanted to make sure that their home, John's last, would be perfect. She couldn't give him more time than Lorien had already given him, but she could have a house built especially for him, the human, the man.

And Delenn so hoped he would feel about his new home, the way he felt about his old.

"You know exactly what I like, honey." He kissed her cheek. "And yes, that's why I carried you over the threshold."

"It doesn't make sense, John, there are no evil spirits here, only the two of us."

John laughed and held her closer. "Did you read the other document?"

Help her. There was another?

She shook her head, and John sighed. "The next one is really hard to explain."

He released her then removed a piece of paper from his pants pocket. "I've been keeping track."

Curious, Delenn craned her neck to see what John had scribbled on his paper but he refolded it and put it back into his pocket.

"Track of what?"

"The number of rooms in this place. So far I've seen the living and dining rooms, my office. That's three. I assume the room across the hall," he pointed to the open door, "or maybe next door is your office."

"I'm next door."

"Okay, that makes five rooms. Obviously there's a kitchen, a guest room or two. I'll have to amend my list once I get the lay of the land."

Delenn had no idea what her husband was talking about. There were other rooms he hadn't named, like the library stocked with old-fashioned books she'd ordered from Earth. Classics like _Of Mice and Men, Romeo and Juliet, and Lord of the Rings_. But there were others, her prayer room for example and the small personal gym for John.

John grabbed her hand and rushed out of the room. "I want to see your office, honey. I bet it's full of crystal knick knacks, and not a dark wooden desk or bookshelf within a mile of the place."

He opened the door to her office and a beam of light glimmered off her oval crystal desk.

"I knew it. This room has Delenn written all over it."

Delenn looked around wildly, wondering if someone had foolishly engraved her name on the office door or wall. There was nothing, and Delenn realized, feeling suddenly foolish, that it was just another ridiculous human saying.

"This is perfect," John said, closing Delenn's office door and locking it.

"Perfect for what?"

"This can be room one. My office will be room two. Let's leave the master bedroom for last. And by the time we reach that room, we'll either be too exhausted to christen it properly, or we'll fall into a coma soon afterward. Either way, tonight will be a memory we'll never forget."

What was the human phrase? Delenn struggled, her confusion clearly showing in her eyes. Then it came to her. "What in the hell are you talking about, John."

"My, my," John said, hoisting Delenn and sitting her on her desk, "aren't you cranky? Must be the hormones. No matter," he lifted her robe to her hips and settled himself between her parted legs, "I like it when you're a little annoyed; it makes the sex even better."

"What—" she started to protest, her insane human mate making no sense at all. But John had captured her mouth, his tongue dipping deep until she could do nothing but return his heat, tasting his flavor and giving her own.

"Oh, yeah, honey, we're going to christen every room in this wonderful house you designed for us. But first," he removed her panties and dropped his pants, "I want to find out how sturdy this crystal desk of yours is."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Reason 11: Bored

**Reason 11: Bored **

Minbar 2262

John Sheridan had eaten a big, filling breakfast, food items he'd never seen, tasted, or even heard of before moving to Minbar two months ago. The housekeeper Delenn hired, Ray'lal, was a wonderful, if not overindulgent, cook. For a woman who was slimmer than Delenn on a good day, the lady knew her way around a kitchen and straight to a man's stomach. But she also managed, quite admirably, John thought, pulling on a pair of old sweats, several decent human recipes like pancakes, French toast, and scrambled eggs. Although, John was almost positive that chickens were not indigenous to Minbar, so, yeah, he really didn't want to know what animal laid their eggs for his breakfast.

He made his way out of the bedroom. He walked down the hall and made a right. The room he was looking for was the first one on the left. Once reaching the room, John entered and smiled.

_My personal gym._

John smiled again, then looked down at his small pouch of a stomach. Seeing as his wife was no prophet, he knew Delenn only set aside such a room because he had often complained, on Babylon 5, about never having enough time to get a good workout in. And it was true. He always used to get at least two days of good weightlifting or cardio going a week. But that had trimmed down to one, then to none when all hell seemed to always manage to find him.

And his wife had listened. John realized, moving to the treadmill, getting on, and hitting two buttons for a forty-five minute cardio workout. John glanced at his pouch again and changed the setting to fat burn. Yeah, Ray'lal was a wonderful cook, and damn the woman for her skill.

Delenn was the one who was supposed to be growing a middle, not him. John laughed, feeling truly happy and at peace. He hadn't in so long. And not that things were perfect in his world, they were not. The Alliance, in its infancy and critical phase, ambled along, ambassadors argued and pouted like toddlers on a playground, and there was always a Minbari whose eyes spoke the words good manners would not permit. The one that growled, "Go home, human, and never return."

John grimaced at the thought, almost stumbling as he jogged in place. He didn't bother to share those times with Delenn; he knew she would be hurt, angry even. Besides, those Minbari were entitled to their feelings, John knowing many humans would respond far worse if the situation was reversed and he'd brought Delenn and the Alliance to Earth.

As much as he loved his Homeworld, John had to admit that humans didn't have the best track record when it came to accepting and respecting people different from themselves. He would not subject Delenn to such discrimination. She had enough of that after her change, from Minbari and humans alike.

Interestingly enough, John pondered, chest beginning to tighten from his exertion. He was really out of shape, and finally having access to homecooked meals after so many years, was a test of resolve John was quickly losing. Delenn's people seemed to have gotten past her transformation. But that wasn't the unusual part. What made the situation strange to John was that they seemed to not think of her as human at all, in spite of her clearly human features.

Ray'lal invariably spoke Adronato to Delenn whenever she saw her in spite of the fact that she'd told the woman time and again that only English should be spoken in the home, even if the conversation didn't involve John.

But it went much further than their pretty, petite housekeeper. Yes, Delenn was married to a human, yes, Delenn looked more human than Minbari, and yes Delenn was carrying a child that would be, genetically speaking, more human than Minbari. But, John scratched his beard, making sure to keep his right hand on the bar to prevent himself from taking a facer; she was viewed as if none of that mattered. As if those things meant nothing.

They meant everything, to Delenn, to him. And while John was pleased that whatever had transpired after Delenn's change had apparently worked itself out, he couldn't help but wonder. Maybe it had something to do with Delenn being right about the war with the Shadows, or perhaps her role in helping to end their civil war was the reason. Then again, perhaps it was her close ties to the current Grey Council. Whatever it was, it had become quite obvious to John that his wife was even more respected than he'd once thought. For some, John thought, the respect slid quite clearly into the realm of reverence.

He didn't know how he felt about that. It definitely made his life easier, he admitted, wiping the sweat from his brow. For many Minbari, the respect they had for Delenn extended to him and their relationship. Grudging as it may be, they accepted their union, and were genuinely pleased about Delenn's pregnancy. No matter what, Minbari valued and loved their children, even one with a human as a father.

This explained why John Sheridan had the entire house to himself today. The quiet and inactivity was pushing him to the limit, slowly driving him insane. This was something else he needed to work on, but today wasn't that day. He was bored.

His wife had left him in bed early this morning, the women of her clan having arranged the second of three pregnancy rituals. The first took place during Delenn's last visit home. With Delenn having just entered her second trimester, they needed to perform the second part of the ritual. And when she began her third trimester, they would have the third part, concluding the ritual.

John, for his part, had no idea what happened during the ritual. Apparently, males, human, Minbari, or otherwise, weren't permitted. He wondered if it was like a human baby shower. He didn't think so, but it made him wonder what a group of religious caste women did and said when no men were around.

Sweaty and winded, John slowed, relieved to have made it to the cool-down part of the routine. He really needed to cut back on Ray'lal's desserts and up his routine to three times a week. Hell, it just wouldn't do for his stomach to be larger than his pregnant wife's.

After taking a shower and ignoring the pile of papers on his desk, John decided that it was no fun having the day off without Delenn. He rarely got a moment's peace, but when he did, he liked to spend the time with Delenn.

And John found that he missed her, which wasn't unusual. But back on Babylon 5, whenever she would go away, days and weeks at a time, there was always something to keep his mind off of her, dwelling too long on her absence and how that made him feel. But here, in their quiet home, with only Alliance paperwork as a distraction, John couldn't ignore the pang in his gut.

Pathetic really, he told himself, pulling out his chair and sitting behind his desk. She'd been gone only a few hours. Would return by dinner she told him. Still, the house just didn't feel the same without her.

Scanning the office for something to do, John spied a silver handheld device on his desk. Picking it up, John turned it end over end, trying to remember what Delenn had called it. He couldn't. No more than he could remember the name of the pregnancy ritual—something with a "B" John thought, but couldn't even be sure of that. Needless to say, his goal of learning his wife's language wasn't going well. Although, John thought with a smile, at his urging, Delenn had taught him a few less than dignified words he liked to use when Ray'lal was long gone and they were alone in their bedroom.

The device fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, all smooth edges and buttons surrounded a flat screen. It was some sort of Minbari mobile device. Delenn had given one to each of the Alliance dignitaries. Her Rangers also carried them. If he remembered correctly, all Alliance contact information was stored on the device as well as other general Alliance information. It was a secure device with an encryption code John didn't quite understand.

John hit a few buttons trying to remember how Delenn showed him how to turn it on. Then John remembered that the device was also voice activated, programmed to respond only to the person to whom the device was assigned.

"Turn on," John said. A second later, the screen came to life, the ISA logo appearing and running across the bright screen.

Happy he'd managed that much, John smiled, then frowned when he realized he recalled very little of Delenn's tutorial.

It was her fault really. John pushed more buttons. How was a man supposed to pay attention to a boring tutorial on a mobile device more advanced than anything that small had a right to be, when his wife was still damp from the shower, wearing a fitting silk nightgown, and smelling of roses and temptation? Admittedly, she was doing nothing more sexy than trying to explain the device to him while eating breakfast. But they hadn't gotten around to christening the kitchen yet. As it was, the first day on Minbar he'd only managed her office before Ray'lal returned with three Rangers in tow. They did, however, eventually christen the bedroom that night—twice.

But it had taken them nearly two weeks to get to the other rooms in the house. But the kitchen had been left unexplored, and from the disapproving look Delenn had given him when he unceremoniously cleared the table and plopped her sweet, shocked behind upon it, her, "This is quite unsanitary, John," doused all thoughts of an impromptu kitchen romp.

Needless to say, he missed the tutorial, his thoughts on how to best change Delenn's mind, images of a writhing, willing Delenn pressed hard against the refrigerator, her moans filling his ears. No, John learned nothing that morning.

Glaring at the device, he was tempted to throw the thing across the room. In fact, his hand twitched to do something. Instead he focused, trying to remember any of what Delenn had said, or better yet, remember where in the hell he'd stuck the owner's manual.

John pushed a few buttons, thinking what he should ask the thing, but something finally popped up on the screen. It was the Alliance directory. He scrolled down until he found Delenn's contact information. Knowing it unwise to call her on the unit, he pushed the bar on the screen, thinking to send her a message.

The text screen came up. Hell, he didn't want that. John preferred to send her a voice message. Not wanting to lose the screen he found, John settled for this. Hell, when was the last time he'd had reason to send a text message?

John propped his feet on his desk and looked at the framed picture of Delenn on his desk. It had officially become his favorite shot of her, taken when she was in her meditation room, candles lit and glowing, face serene and oh so lovely. He knew he shouldn't interrupt, but when he saw her like that, the shades from the window pulled back, rays of the sun hitting the room at just the right angle, illuminating her small but strong form. John had to capture the image. And he did, so quietly Delenn didn't even stir.

Thinking about his wife, a slow smile began to form, as did a plan.

Hitting the box for the text message, a tiny keyboard appeared and John began to type, his face brightening with each word.

_I've been thinking of you all day, honey. I can't seem to get the thought of you out of my mind._

John waited for a reply, not knowing if he was interrupting. He probably was. She was, after all, participating in a special ritual. But Delenn carried her device everywhere, always reminding him to do the same. She used it for memos, note taking, calculations, translations, research. You name it; the tiny device could do it. But John didn't need all those features now. No, what he had would do nicely.

John heard a ding. He had a message. Great.

_It pleases me, John, that your thoughts are of me. I too have thought much of you today but I will be home soon enough._

John knew that was her polite way of saying she was busy and didn't have time to play whatever game he had in mind. And while John knew he should leave her be, the kid in him was only getting started.

_What are you wearing today, Delenn? Not the robe, honey, underneath. Blue silk panties? White laced stockings? That red see-through bra I ordered for you? You know, the one that shows off those pretty, pink nipples of yours._

John couldn't keep the grin from his face, images of his very proper wife, surrounded by even more proper Minbari females, reading his naughty message. Her blush had to be as red as the bra he was envisioning her in.

Slowly, John undid his pants, then quickly glanced at the open door. For a moment he'd forgotten the housekeeper had the day off. Sighing with relief, John slipped his hand inside, waiting for his wife to respond. And John knew she would, if only to chastise him for sending inappropriate messages on a device intended for business use only.

Four minutes later he heard the _ding_.

_You're bored._

Yes he was. Or rather he had been. Now . . . well, now he just wanted to play an old human game with his Minbari wife.

_True, but I still want to know what you're wearing. Paint me a picture, honey._

John held his breath, not knowing if Delenn would play along, hoping she would. And while her people viewed her as a Minbari with a partial human body, John knew otherwise. Delenn was more human than they knew. Hell, more human than she realized or admitted to herself. But the truth was there in their relationship. Delenn was truly human and Minbari in heart, mind, and soul, not simply in body, never only that.

_Black mid-thigh stockings with lace._

John sank his hand deeper into his pants. His wife was up to the game.

_What else?_

_Matching silk bra._

The picture was beginning to form. But he needed more.

_How does it feel against your skin?_

_Soft, supportive, sensual._

Oh, yes, she was definitely showing her human side. John closed his eyes and began a slow stroke.

_Does it feel as good as my tongue? Circling, sucking, teasing?_

Pause. Then.

_Never that, John._

_What about your panties, honey?_

_Black silk. They fit perfectly, so thin I can barely feel them._

_Do they caress you, hold you in just the right way to make you wet and throb with need?_

_Only you have done that to me, John. Only ever you._

Oh, yeah, he knew that, and it was heady being a woman's first. But in many ways Delenn was his first as well.

Up and down. Up and down he stroked, seeing Delenn, wanting her there with him.

_I wish I could feel you now. Have those soft, firm hands of yours on me, gliding with a rhythm you know too damn well, making me moan and swell for you. God, Delenn, I'm swelling for you now. I wish you were here to see it; feel it; taste it._

Up and down. Up and down.

_What would you do if you were here, honey?_

Several minutes passed and John wondered if something or someone had interrupted Delenn, then the _ding_ came, and John relaxed, settling back into the chair.

_I would replace your hand with my own, feeling the warmth, width, and strength of you. I would find the tip and circle it with my thumb, playing and smoothing the moisture over my fingers and down your length, slicking us both. Then I would taste you. How could I not? You would fill my mouth the way you always do, cautious not to hurt me even in your passion, doing things with my mouth and tongue that no Minbari would ever understand. No, such things are only for us, between us._

Damn right.

_And does taking me in your mouth make you wet, Delenn? Does it make you pulse and flow for me, wishing for me to fill you there, claiming you the way I did last night?_

_Valen, yes._

John stroked harder, faster.

_Touch yourself, honey. God, touch yourself._

_I am. I shouldn't. Not here, not now. But, oh, I can't stop myself._

_No, don't stop. Don't stop, Delenn. Take me with you. My hands. My tongue. My lips. My hard, relentless thrusts. Feel it, Delenn, all if it. Yes, touch yourself._

And he did the same, imagining his wife, thinking of her as she thought of him. The picture she'd painted was damn erotic, much more so than he thought possible when he began this game. But it had long since stop being a game. No, he was rock hard, panting, and ready to come in his god damn boxers. All because he was bored and missing his wife. Yeah, this third marriage was nothing like the first two. And hell no, Delenn was damn sure more than Minbari.

He came, his right hand buried down his pants, a moan of release the only sound in the house, except for his heavy breathing.

After a couple of calming minutes, John glanced down at the screen on the mobile device. Delenn had left him a message.

Ignoring the sticky feeling, John sat up and read the message aloud. "I'm sure I will never return to this temple without feeling as if I've dishonored the sanctity of the building. And while that should shame me, I simply can't muster that emotion now. Perhaps it will come in time when I'm not consumed with desire and anticipation."

John grinned at that. Yeah, definitely part human. He read the last lines of the message. "Someone is knocking on the bathroom door, wondering why I've been in here so long. I need to finish the ritual, but I'll be home in two hours. P.S., since I've already broken countless rules of proper conduct today, one more won't make much of a difference. I'll meet you in the kitchen and we can complete that little checklist of rooms you keep on your dresser."

John's smile widened even more. Kitchen sex. Up against the refrigerator sex. Hell yes. He jumped up, pants hanging low and open. But first, he thought, fixing his clothes, he needed a shower and shave. Then he would check the table in the kitchen to make sure it was clean and clear. Heck, if the frig didn't work, they could always make do on the table. And if John was very lucky, and he was feeling lucky right now, having stomped the hell out of boredom a while ago, Delenn might even let him spread some of Ray'lal's creamy, berry dessert all over her and eat it off.

John walked to his office door and shrugged. He would start his diet tomorrow. For tonight, he intended to feast like a king.


	12. Reason 12: Craving

**Reason 12: Craving**

Minbar, 2263

'What is it about pregnancy that can turn a meat-eater against beef or make a vegetarian crave steak? How can it make one woman gaga for guacamole and another barf at the sight of broccoli? Some of it is hormone-related, says Sharon Blackwell, PhD, an associate professor of nutrition and dietetics at Chronos University on Mars. Just as women have cravings at various stages of their menstrual cycle due to hormones, the same thing happens during pregnancy.

Some theories hold that there is also a wisdom of the body. A craving for milk might mean you need calcium; a craving for fruit may signal a need for vitamin C. In fact, fruit, milk, and milk products (as well as chocolate and salty snacks) are the most common pregnancy cravings, says Dr. Blackwell.

One thing we do know is that a woman's taste preferences change throughout pregnancy and these changes may affect what she chooses to eat. For example, moms-to-be tend to have a greater affinity for sweet foods (hello, chocolate!). Scientists think this could be caused by an increased need for calories during pregnancy.'

Delenn scrolled through the rest of the article, pretending as if she was reviewing the revised trade agreement between the Gaim and the Brakiri Homeworlds. In truth, Delenn had already familiarized herself with the agreement, found it beneficial and fair for both parties involved, and was more than willing to support the agreement. Why the ambassadors requested an audience with Delenn and John she did not know. And really, at this late stage in her pregnancy, Delenn had neither the patience for unnecessary bickering, or the mental focus required for such negotiations.

Not today. Not when her body was betraying her. Again.

Delenn sighed, found a small button on her view screen and pushed the OFF button. The article, like this meeting, was meaningless. No more important or relevant to her than the last dozen or so articles she'd read from so-called "experts".

Not even Dr. Franklin could help her. Perhaps if she craved strange food items like other woman she would feel better. Not that Delenn had any interest in consuming odd food combinations, she thought, suppressing the urge to frown at John's words of, 'My sister used to dip pickle spears into double fudge chocolate chip ice cream when she was pregnant.' He'd laughed then, and gave her an expectant look. As if she would have a sudden urge to eat Earth food that should never be spoken in the same sentence, no less eaten at the same time. Then John had told her about his mother's cravings of French Fries soaked in root beer when she was pregnant with him.

This time Delenn did frown, the ambassadors and John too engrossed in their conversation to pay her any attention.

That conversation had been over three months ago and Delenn had yet to experience one food craving. Oddly, she sensed this disappointed John. That he was actually looking forward to the experience. Admittedly, he had never said as much, but he'd often offered "to make a late night run" for her.

Delenn had no idea what he meant by that, no more than she knew how to explain that her lack of a food craving seemed to have denied John something.

Delenn shook her head. Why her lack of a craving should affect her husband so Delenn did not know. For John was truly enjoying her pregnancy. The baby shopping. Decorating the nursery. The nightly readings to her ever-growing middle. He loved it all. And Delenn loved him for his unbridled enthusiasm.

But there was the craving, or lack of a craving. Yet, that all changed two months ago. Well, not exactly, for Delenn has yet to crave anything other than the food items she normally likes. But there was one thing, one very important, unexpected change.

Delenn eyed the crystal timepiece on her desk. They'd been at this for almost two hours, discussing a document needing nothing more than two willing signatures. John was more patient than usual, while she on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to throw the ambassadors out of her office, lock the door behind them, and rip off John's . . .

And that was Delenn's _craving_. John. Specifically, intimacy with John.

Delenn shook her head. It began when she entered her third trimester. It started slow, a slight increase in desire. Nothing noteworthy, just morning intimacy when they were normally too busy to do anything more than eat breakfast before rushing off to ISA Headquarters.

Yet by the middle of the seventh month, the urges were more frequent and they were having "nooners" as John called them. In her office. In his. On her couch. On his desk chair. Twice in the Council chamber. Once in a storage closet. Three times in the automated underground shuttle. And then there was that time on the lift. But Delenn didn't count that, the ride too short for anything more than finger play.

Valen, help her. There was scarcely a private cove in the building that they hadn't explored. And the husband that wanted to eek every bit of pleasure out of her pregnancy was inordinately pleased when her craving "finally kicked in". 'Damn, honey, this beats the hell out of pickles and ice cream,' John had said when she had no choice but to admit what was going on with her.

And while Delenn had come to terms with her unique body a long time ago, sometimes, like now, she wished she was fully human or completely Minbari. Some pregnant human women craved unusual food combinations. Minbari women with child experienced no cravings. Yet, Delenn, a hybrid, craved sex. How humbling and utterly embarrassing.

And to make matters worse, she wanted nothing more than to have her husband now. He was so handsome in his gray suit, beard neatly trimmed, voice calm and in control.

And she wanted him. Wanted him this morning when he rose early from bed. Wanted him when he emerged wet and glistening from the shower. Delenn wanted him as he ate his breakfast, Ray'lal's too knowing eyes cast down and away from them. She wanted him two hours ago when the negotiations began.

And she wanted him now. His lips. His tongue. His hands. His—

The Gaim ambassador had asked her something. Delenn blinked, trying to clear her mind of lascivious thoughts.

Before she could fumble out a question or a confused statement, John slipped in, saving her from herself.

"Why don't we continue this after lunch, ambassadors."

It wasn't a question but a clear demand. John stood, his movement compelling the other two men to do the same. And before Delenn knew it, John had ended the pointless meeting and ushered the men out of her office. Then he turned to her, a warm, sexy smile on his lips.

"You weren't paying the least bit of attention to them."

Again, it wasn't a question. He knew her as well as she knew him. And the way his eyes had settled on her abnormally large breasts was a sure sign John Sheridan knew exactly what she had been thinking about during the meeting.

And if his lust-filled stare wasn't enough to clue her in, the confident way he strolled to her desk and pulled Delenn to her feet and kissed her—

"Where?" was all he said after raising his head, heat sizzling between them.

"Home."

He gave her a dubious look.

"Can you last that long?"

Delenn reddened. The shuttle ride was short. And while they'd been intimate only last night, Delenn didn't want to wait that long. Embarrassing but true.

She shook her head.

"I didn't think so." John led her to her couch and she sat, then reclined at his urging. "Let's see what I can do to take the edge off. Then we can return home for a more thorough exploration."

" 'Take the edge off?'" She had no idea what John was talking about, then his hand crept under her robe, up her thigh, and his eyes twinkled. Okay, now she had a fairly good idea what he had in mind.

John knelt on the floor beside the couch and his warm mouth found hers again. Their tongues twined; a slow, gentle kiss that robbed her of breath and thought.

Then his hand was on her again, pushing her legs slightly apart, moving over soft, trembling thighs, steadily gliding upward.

The kiss lingered, John's body hovering over her own, so careful not to put any of his weight on her stomach. He was always careful, always cautious, always conscious of her body and his.

And tender. John was a most tender lover, before and after the pregnancy. Today was no different, his long, strong fingers gingerly slipped inside, her body welcoming, willing, grateful.

And she was wet. So wet for him that he slid right in, his moan of, "God, honey, I love that the mere thought of me inside you gets you like this. I can't wait to get you home and feel you on more than my fingers."

Then he was caressing, stroking. One finger. Two. Three.

Then Delenn was lost. Lost to the sensation of her craving being met, fed, and obliterated into tiny spasms of pleasure, followed by electrical jolts of release.

Minutes later, Delenn sank against the cushions, her body thrumming, knowing the joining will be even more wonderful on their bed with John buried deep inside her. And, yes, he had 'taken the edge off', the meaning now clear to Delenn.

John helped her to her feet, and as Delenn found her footing and began to make her way to her office door, she heard John ask, "Which position, Delenn? From the back? From the side? Or with you on top?"

Delenn smiled, knowing those were their only options once her stomach grew too large for John to be on top in any position. For Delenn, however, three had always been sacred. And today was no different.

She threw John an over-the-shoulder challenge and said, "All three."


	13. Reason 13: Post Natal

**Reason 13: Post Natal**

Minbar, 2263

John Sheridan had been a father for exactly two months, one week, forty-eight minutes, and sixteen seconds. The realization of his new status still made his head spin. At least the nauseous churning of his stomach and the quaking of his knees had ceased somewhere between when Delenn had proclaimed in a too-calm voice, "It's time, John, my water has broken," and Dr. Stephen Franklin's tired but relieved statement of "Your wife is going to be fine and you're now the proud father of a healthy son."

_Son. _The word drifted about his brain, a slow absorption process that had yet to fully immerse itself in his psyche. The little life that grew steadily and solidly these past months within John's wife had finally materialized into a pale, squiggly, crying bundle of relief and joy.

John had never been so afraid as when he and the on-duty Ranger rushed a double-over Delenn to the birthing center. He would've preferred a fully staffed and stocked hospital, but John had been forced to accept—after many hours of arguing with Delenn's obstetrician—that Minbari birthing centers were completely capable of handling most health issues "from the mundane to the unexpected."

John's heart had stuttered at the doctor's word of "most." But really, what healthcare facility was prepared for every eventuality? None. But when it came to his small family, John Sheridan was unwilling to take any chances.

And while the Fates had blessed them with an unprecedented pregnancy, their goodwill lasted only the breadth of Delenn's pregnancy, for Delenn had an arduous delivery. She was a trooper, as she always was, but by the time their baby was born, Delenn had no reserves left. Not even the melodic prayers of the ladies of her clan could rouse her senses, nor John's kiss to her sweat-drenched cheek, or his words of "You did it; thank you for our son."

But David, as John and Delenn decided to name him, was having none of it. He'd fought his way into the world, through genetic impossibility and narrow-minded mating mores. Apparently, their child, their newborn, would not be denied the loving embrace of his mother.

So the child wailed. And wailed. And wailed. Until Delenn, in her exhausted, listless state opened her eyes to behold them both. John's own eyes filled with tears when their eyes met and held; a galaxy of unspoken emotions sparkled between them, around them, in them. Then she, too, was weeping, but also smiling. Such a beautiful smile, John remembered thinking. Then she'd reached for David, the son that only existed because she dared to fulfill a thousand-year old prophecy and challenged those who had the audacity—and stupidity—to stand between Delenn and the human she'd given her heart and soul to.

And now, two months later, John watched her, watched them.

Standing just inside their son's nursery, John enjoyed the nightly routine. The room, painted in blues, white, and yellow, clouds, stars, planets, stretched from one wall, up to the ceiling, and down and around, creating a child-size Universe, a bright, artistic reminder of how little David came to be. Starstuff at its best.

Then the voice came, soft and inspiring. The words were unknown, but it didn't matter. It never did. John simply closed his eyes and listened. Her voice was so sweet, a cinnamon sugar coating to his ears. And who knew Entil'zha Delenn could sing? Certainly not John.

But she could, and so well at that. John was surprised the first time he heard Delenn cooing to David, her contralto voice low and undeniably exquisite. According to Delenn, all Minbari mother's used songs to teach prayers, even Warrior caste women. Yet John doubted all Minbari females were as gifted with Metropolitan-Opera-House-worthy voices as Delenn.

And here she sat in a rocking chair—a gift from Lise and Michael— singing to David, a mother-son ritual, one John didn't mind not being a part of. His front row seat more than enough for the fanboy in him.

Three prayers later, John helped Delenn with David, carefully drawing him from her arms and placing the sleeping ball of chubby, soft, baby flesh into the crib.

Sliding one arm around Delenn's waist, they watched their son sleep, a soft purr coming from him, a precursor, John inwardly admitted, to the famous Sheridan male tradition of snoring. Yup, John thought, turning his wife toward the door, he could add that to their "Mir vs. Sheridan" list. So far Delenn was losing three-to-one. Eye color and shape of nose and ears; Sheridan claimed those. Hair color went to Delenn.

Although, John took one last look at his slumbering child, turned on the audio-video monitor, and pulled the door toward him, leaving it ajar just a crack, Delenn was more than willing to give him an additional point, claiming the contented look David wore after breastfeeding was the same John donned after a very different kind of satiation.

Not that John had reason to own such an expression lately. No, he and Delenn had yet to resume their sex life. After Delenn's difficult delivery, and the normal recovery time, two months had slipped by.

John knew they would have to wait, and he really didn't mind. Once returning home from the birthing center, it was all Delenn could do to eat and drink enough to feed David, her body needing time to recover. But she got stronger and stronger as the days went by, and they found a rhythm of eating, sleeping, and working that suited their new family.

John and Delenn were still learning, but wasn't parenting nothing but a series of lessons, trials and errors?

John led Delenn to the living room, white candles aglow, illuminating the decorative pillows on the floor and an array of fresh fruit, flarn, and a few other items Ray'lal prepared for him but whose names he'd already forgotten.

"You've been busy," Delenn said, glancing up at him before walking over to the arrangement and sitting. Tucking bare feet under gray and blue nightgown, Delenn smiled at John's meager effort. His cooking skills were minimal at best, but he could manage an indoor picnic with the help of a talented and patient Ray'lal.

John sat as well, his loose fitting night pants comfortable, in spite of the protest from his knees and thighs. At least, John thought with pride, the shallow pain wasn't simply from old age but the good pain that comes with consistent and thorough exercise. As far as John was concerned, if he couldn't have Delenn, a sweaty, distractingly exhausting workout was the next best thing.

"This is nice, John." Delenn began on her salad, the leaves a vibrant green and a tad crunchy, the warm flarn on top soft but not overcooked.

With the exception of Minbar's version of jazz playing in the background, the room was quiet. But it was a pleasant kind of quiet, not one in which either of them felt forced to make conversation. No, they were well past that stage. Comfortable silences, John knew them to be called. And it was.

John and Delenn talked all the time; shared the events of their day and genuinely took pleasure in each other's company. But silent, reflective time was also valued, especially since two months with a newborn had shredded the quiet mornings and evenings they'd so become accustomed.

Now, however, with David sleeping nearly three hours between feedings, John thought it time he and Delenn rediscovered what it meant to be husband and wife, not simply father and mother.

A week ago, Delenn's OBGYN, had given them the all clear to resume sexual activity. And while they were both eager to do so, they hadn't quite managed the task.

Sure they'd tried. Twice. David's cries of hunger interrupted the first attempt. By the time Delenn finished feeding him, the sun was up and they had a meeting in an hour. The second time wasn't much better. They'd awoken the next morning, night clothes askew but still on, the embarrassing realization that they'd unceremoniously fallen asleep while still on first base.

Tonight, John thought, stealing a glance at his wife, would be different. It was the weekend, David was asleep, his wife was well fed, and he . . . well, John Sheridan was so hard and horny, he was sure he could impregnate his wife again with the thought alone.

"You're not eating."

John glanced at his own salad. The bowl was half full. He didn't remember having tasted any of it. Better yet, what he truly wanted to taste, to eat, to devour couldn't be found in his bowl.

He moved to Delenn's side, inhaling the fresh scent of her, a combination of lilac and winter mint. He loved the way mint felt on his tongue—cool and fresh. And he needed that now, his body overheating from her nearness.

John's hand found Delenn's bare shoulder, the spaghetti strap of her gown a tempting talisman to be fondled and coaxed out of place.

John whispered, his hungry voice coming out like granite wrapped in silk. "I wanted to wine and dine you tonight, Delenn. Remind you of those wonderful—although rare—dinners of ours back on Babylon 5." His tone deepened, the spaghetti strap succumbing to his finger, slipping down one toned, flawless shoulder and arm. "I wanted to woo you, hold you in my arms and twirl you about the room, music and love and lust making us dizzy until we collapsed from the sheer power of being so close."

Delenn's swallow was loud, the flute solo in the background an acoustic balm to John's nerves. It had been so long. But not so long that he'd forgotten her touch, her taste, the way she wrapped herself around him, trembling with excitement and need. No, John had forgotten nothing.

"And now?" Their eyes met, and John knew he could throw that plan out the nearest window. Delenn closed the few inches that separated their mouths and claimed his lips. And if he was granite, Delenn was jello, wet, sweet, soft yet firm. She tasted so damn good. _So good._

She unbuttoned his shirt, sure fingers sliding, caressing, touching with burning desire, her lips never leaving his, the sugar rush building, going to all the parts that screamed "MORE!"

The primal part of John demanded he take her now, to rip the flimsy, taunting nightgown from her, wrap her slender legs around his hips, and bury himself unrepentantly inside her. But the one civilized brain cell made him say "We can do all of that, honey, take it slow. Do everything on my list before joining. I want to make this good for you, let you know it's not just about the physical act."

But it was, at least in part. John was too much of a male not to acknowledge that. But, yes, it was also about reconnecting with Delenn emotionally, as his woman, as his wife, as his mate.

Delenn rose to her knees, then shrugged the other strap off her shoulder. The silken garment fell to her waist, leaving her gorgeous body unencumbered. John's mouth watered and he knew she'd just obliterated that nagging civilized brain cell of his. The poor cell was squashed in a sea of pale, female flesh and wanton green-gray eyes of unmistakable desire. It didn't stand a chance.

Delenn pulled him to her, and he went, removing shirt and pants before settling over top of Delenn.

She wrapped arms and legs around him, and smoky eyes stared up at him. "Do you remember the last time we joined?"

Of course he did. Two hours before her water broke, the pregnancy craving driving her to his side of the bed, hand bringing him and little John fully awake.

John nodded his head.

She smiled, then wiggled underneath him. John closed his eyes, the sensation too much and not enough.

"I've wanted you like this for a long time, John. On top of me, your weight holding me down, your thighs spreading me wide, your hands on my—" He stroked her breast, thumb finding and exploring taut nipple. "—breasts—" she finished on a moan. "Just like that."

Oh, yeah, just like that. He'd wanted this, too. This position, this closeness, this face-to-face loving where her eyes revealed everything, and took all he had to give. His lust. His love. His desire. His heart. His seed. His soul.

His everything.

Delenn was his everything. And now they had David.

Could a man ask more from the Universe than this? John knew not. The Fates, such as they were, had taken from him, but also given. And for that, he was happy, his family, his circle of three, finally complete.


	14. Reason 14: Mother's Day

**Reason 14: Mother's Day**

Minbar, 2264

John Sheridan looked at the two cards in his hands. Red, yellow, and pink roses surrounded two overlapping hearts.

He smiled down at his creation. He hadn't crafted a handmade Mother's Day card since he was a skinny boy of ten. Back then, his father used to always say, "Anyone can buy a card, Johnny, that's the quick and easy thing to do. But the true worth of the gift comes in the doing, the making, the feeling. It's rarely about the end result, but the effort, son, never forget."

Yet he had. Or rather he had no true reason to remember until this year, until Delenn had gifted them with David. His son. His boy. Their miracle.

John glanced at his handiwork one more time before moving around his desk, slippers sliding softly over the hardwood flooring.

With a pleased smile, John strode out of his home office, down the hall, and around the corner. He stopped at the partly open door and listened. He heard nothing inside. _Good, she's still asleep._

Quietly, John opened the door further and slipped inside. And there she slept, black, cotton sheets pulled to her waist, blending with the black silk of her nightgown, Delenn's pale face, shoulders, and arms a creamy, sexy contrast.

He soaked in the sight of her. Seeing her never failed to arouse; this morning was no different.

They had time. David, at nearly a year now, slept through the night, permitting them to do so as well. And it was Sunday. John loved Sundays. He loved the relaxed feel of the day, the unhurried tempo, and the soothing slide into the next business week. "A man who rushes through life is a man with nothing of value to savor."

John made his way to Delenn's side, happy to simply be here with her, appreciating his father's wisdom. He would indeed savor every precious minute with her; for each day was an indescribable blessing the ticking clock of his life hid behind.

Just when John reached Delenn, her eyes opened, as if she sensed his approach.

"Good morning." Thickly accented Adronato rolled off her sleepy tongue, and John grinned down at her.

"Happy Mother's Day, honey."

John leaned over the slanted bed and kissed her forehead. He stayed there a moment, drinking in the fresh morning scent of her, Delenn's contented sigh his reward.

"Come back to bed."

Oh, yeah, he intended to, but not just yet. He had business to attend to.

Reaching behind his back, John handed Delenn his offerings.

"Read the one with the stars first, Delenn."

John gave his wife a minute to acclimate herself to the fact that she was truly awake with an impatiently hovering husband who expected her mind to be fully functioning at five thirty in the morning. It wasn't fair, John knew, but he was ready to begin the first of nineteen Mother's Day.

_Only nineteen. _John fought the pang of sadness; forced it away. _I'll make every one count. Every. Damn. One. Savor them all, John. Savor her._

"Mother's Day," Delenn repeated, then turned to her side, one hand propped against the side of her head. "You told me about this Mother's Day." He had. She gave a dainty yawn, lowering her head as she did so. "It's an honorable human custom, John, and I'm honored to have you share it with me. Thank you."

John nodded, understanding the high value Minbari placed on familial relations, especially children.

"Read the first card," he urged; a faint touch of nerves.

"Join me first." She smiled, her eyes twinkling with the soft command.

He joined her. She never had to ask him twice.

"Now read."

"So impatient." Delenn laughed, but read.

John rolled his eyes and groaned. "Out loud if you please, woman."

She peered up at him, waited a beat, then simply shook her head and said, "How many cups of coffee have you had this morning, John?"

Three, but that really wasn't the point.

He gave a put-out huff. "Just read . . . aloud, please, honey."

More laughter, then she sobered. "I'll do as you ask."

Oh, he did like the way that sounded. John made a mental note to remind Delenn of those words later on. But first . . .

" 'Let my eyes be massaged by your beauty,  
>Let my heart be warmed by your smile.<br>Let my ears always hear that you love me,  
>Let my lips kiss yours for a while.<p>

Let my arms hold you close when you're sad,  
>Let my hugs make you warm when you're cold.<br>Let my love last as long as forever,  
>That way we will never grow old.<p>

Let me promise you'll never be lonely,  
>Let me promise to always be true,<br>Please let me be happy for the rest of my life,  
>Thank you for marrying me.' "<p>

Their eyes met, and the smile she bestowed on him was radiant and too damn sensual.

"You wrote me a teela. I had no idea."

Well, neither had he. John doubted his little poem was on par with a Minbari teela. But the way his wife was staring at him, John didn't think she truly cared. It was the thought and effort that counted most to a Minbari. Once again, good ole dad had it right. John was so going to get laid this morning, and Delenn hadn't even read the other card yet.

John nudged her hand. "Read the other one, honey."

She blinked. "Oh, yes." Delenn reached out and ran a sole finger down his bearded jaw, over his nose, then with a teasing caress of his lower lip, began to read.

" 'From the moment we met,  
>And you held me so tight,<br>I knew I was safe,  
>As you kissed me good night.<p>

I woke up so often,  
>And stumbled with feeds,<br>You never gave up on me,  
>Met all my needs.<p>

Now that I'm almost,  
>A ten-month old boy,<br>I want you to know that,  
>You're my greatest joy.<p>

They say that we look alike,  
>Same hair and smile,<br>Better than looking,  
>Like Dad I suppose.<p>

I love when we cuddle,  
>I love when we play,<br>I love that you sing to me,  
>Every day.<p>

Whenever I cry or,  
>I poop or I pee,<br>Thank you for taking,  
>Such good care of me.<p>

Thank you for loving me,  
>No matter what,<br>Everything you do,  
>To me means a lot.<p>

Next time you hear me say,  
>"Ga ga goo goo"<br>What I'm really saying is,  
>"Va'sala, I love you"<p>

Happy Mother's Day

Love,

David Sheridan of Mir' "

John watched as Delenn wiped her eyes, the tears having started halfway through the poem he'd written on behalf of their son.

"There are no words, John," Delenn finally said, the card crushed to her chest, over her heart.

He slid closer. "I love you, honey, happy Mother's Day."

Very few things brought Delenn to tears or overwhelmed silence. That he could please her so, that his mere words written from the heart, the soul could undo her so . . . well, John Sheridan was the one who felt honored.

"I love you, too, John, more than I ever thought possible."

Her hand came to his face again, gliding over face before moving to his nape, pulling him in for a sweet, slow kiss.

And she kissed him, with lips and tongue and need and love. She kissed him with a tender hunger that spoke of familiarity and possession.

And John returned the embrace, accepting the heated overture with a matching flame of his own.

Delenn pulled him on top of her. And when they made love, a Sunday morning joining neither rushed, Delenn held him and the cards tightly, savoring his gift as much as he savored her.

A Mother's Day to remember. Yes, John would remember them all.

**Author's Note:**Happy Mother's Day. I hope you enjoyed the little holiday fic. Before beginning this endeavor, I crafted a list of 25 reasons. We are now over half way through my list. I'm slowly checking each reason off my list as I go, pleased to be making progress. Thank you for continuing to read and support the story. And a special thanks to those who've taken the time to leave comments. I really do appreciate the sentiment.


	15. Reason 15: New Bed

**Reason 15: New Bed**

Minbar, 2264

Delenn of Mir would never claim to have a photographic memory. Nor would she deny that she'd been known on occasion to forget an important detail or fact. But when things were all said and done, Delenn's memory was as solid and strong as any Minbari bonecrest.

Why was it then that Delenn had forgotten how much better John was on a flat, human bed?

John's hips slammed up, meeting her as she thrust down.

Delenn moaned. Again. Again. Again.

Yes, he was so good at this. How could she have ever forgotten exactly _how _good?

And, no, John Sheridan wasn't a bad lover on a Minbar bed. In fact, his ability to master the tilt in a short period of time had amazed and utterly pleased Delenn.

But he was simply so much better on a flat bed. In his element, as he liked to say.

And he'd been proving that fact to her the past two days, ever since the delivery of the human bed.

"Finally," he'd said once the bed was put together and the worker castemen had left.

He'd immediately collapsed on the wide, plush mattress, grin satisfied, eyes holding her own.

John had beckoned her forward, and from that moment, their lusty weekend had begun—a weekend where only David and the need for food was enough to drag them from their room and their new bed.

Another hard thrust ripped a scream from her.

Eyes shut. Delenn absorbed the bliss, the raw power of their coupling.

Yes, so much better when he didn't have to concentrate on not falling off or sliding down the bed.

No, all his concentration was on her. On pleasure. On pleasing. On pushing.

Her. To the limit.

He leaned up, his muscles tightening at the apex of her thighs. Then his mouth was on her, tongue tasting, taking, torturing her aching nipples with relentless attention.

And she loved it. Loved him. Loved the human bed. It brought out the wildly confident side of John Sheridan.

_Ah, yes_, how could she have forgotten those nights they'd spent in his quarters on Babylon 5?

"Damn, you taste so good," a husky moan spoken between her breasts.

He was making her feel better than good.

She wrapped her arms tighter around his broad, sweaty shoulders, holding on as he bucked harder, deeper, taking _her_ for a ride even though she was in the pilot's seat.

Admittedly, Delenn preferred the mental and physical comfort of a Minbari bed. Stephen even recognized the benefit of such a bed over that of a flat, human one during pregnancy.

But Delenn was no longer pregnant and John had already made so many cultural sacrifices. She could make this one for him.

But, oh, it didn't feel like a sacrifice right now. Not the way John's muscled thighs bunched underneath her bottom each time he moved inside her, claiming Delenn with a feral possession she'd become accustomed.

Human.

Minbari.

_No, not a sacrifice. Just pleasure. Just us. Just John._

He flipped her over.

"Tell me again why we waited so long to get this new bed, honey."

John was panting now.

So was she.

Delenn couldn't recall. But did it really matter?

_No, it doesn't matter. Only this, only him, only now._

Then they were coming. Fierce, hungry thrusts seeking that last throbbing pulse of pleasure, of passion, of need and want.

And when John rose on his hands and knees, staring down at her with those sexy, satiated eyes of his, Delenn knew this would be John's last new bed. The one they would share until . . .

_Not yet. Have more time._

Delenn reached for him, found his cheek and caressed.

"Happy Birthday, John."


	16. Reason 16: Comfort

**Reason 16: Comfort**

Minbar, 2266

John Sheridan hated diplomatic relations almost as much as he hated war. And while on the surface diplomacy seemed a bloodless, civilized endeavor, in truth it was a mere illusion. A shell game of wills pitted against ideology that inevitably . . . irrevocably led to war, blood, death.

Cool, large hands ran over tired, red eyes. God, John was so tired of this shit. No matter how much he and Delenn tried to negotiate peace for the Universe his wife had so much faith in, it was never enough. _Never damn enough._

John reached for the crystal glass, taking a slow sip of water as cold as Alfred Bester's heart. John placed his foul mood and the current war at the feet of the conniving, militant Psi Cop and the deceased President Clark.

Another sip. John leaned back in his chair, and for the first time in a long while, wished his adopted planet had something stronger for him to drink than tea. _The Telepath War is enough to drive a man to drink. _

John closed his eyes, relieved for a moment of quiet, the council meeting having lasted much longer than he'd intended. But the bickering ambassadors were all gone now, leaving John to his thoughts and alcohol-free drink.

Then his thoughts turned to his wife. Her aide had slipped in the meeting while John was addressing a question posed by the Gaim ambassador. The slip of a girl's face was pale, brown eyes grave, movements graceful. Delenn had gone with her but not returned. Unusual but understandable for the Entil'zha who had an ever-growing network of Rangers and interplanetary issues to oversee and manage.

But it had been more than two hours.

John stood, the sudden need to see his wife overpowering. Moving quickly, John walked to the council chamber door, sliding the security glass out of his way and moving briskly into the hall.

As usual, the hallway was brightly lit, long, and quiet. No bustling, no loud talking, no ambling about, just focused Minbari weaving in and out of John's sight, his mind on Delenn. The feeling that something was wrong growing the closer he got to her office.

Three minutes later, John stood in front of Delenn's desk, reading the very report he'd seen Delenn's aide hand her before Delenn followed the young woman out of the room.

He looked down at the aide, her white robe soft, delicate, unassuming, like the woman herself. But she had a gentle fire, one that stirred to life when one of the more arrogant and stupid ambassadors thought to bully their way onto Delenn's itinerary. But she now stood, face and eyes downcast, slim fingers digging into the folds of her robe in a way John knew wasn't proper religious caste decorum.

"Where is she?" John asked, voice harder than intended. The girl winced, hands digging deeper, but she maintained that strong, Minbari posture he knew so well. Rigid back and fierce determination. Delenn had chosen well.

"Where did Delenn go after she read this report, Cayan?" Gentler. Softer. No need to frighten the girl. John just needed answers, his stomach having begun to tighten in knots the moment he'd read Delenn's daily Entil'zha report.

Eyes lifted and met his own. Good.

"She did not say, Mr. President."

And of course the acolyte wouldn't dare ask; the Minbari sticklers for rules of propriety and hierarchy.

He wanted to ask Cayan the state of Delenn's mind when she'd left. But that too was taboo on Minbar for a woman of the aide's station. Even if she knew, she wouldn't betray Delenn's emotional confidence, not even to her husband. But John didn't need the woman to tell him that his wife was not in the best emotional state. How could she be?

He glanced down at the report one more time and read the line he knew had sent Delenn out of her office and to God knows where.

_Non-telepaths killed in Psi Corps Headquarters explosion:_

_Anla'Shok Lennier, Minbari Federation, Religious Caste, Third Fane of Chudomo_

Twenty minutes later, John rushed through the door of his home. Ray'lal waited for him, her expression somber.

He'd called home ten minutes ago, Ray'lal assuring him that Delenn was indeed at home and safe. She'd been there for quite a while. Relief had flooded through him. She was safe; he had to go to her.

"Where?"

"The master bedroom."

John nodded. Although he would've bet Delenn would've been holed up in her meditation/prayer room. No matter.

"And David?"

"He's fine. The nanny is with him. He doesn't even know his mother is home."

John understood the housekeeper's unspoken words. The two-year old would be kept away from Delenn until the storm passed. No need to upset the child, have him cry and whine for his mother's attention when she was just entering mourning.

"Thank you, Ray'lal. I'll check on my son as soon as I take care of his mother."

A respectful bow. "Of course."

They both turned, heading in separate directions. John to his bedroom, Ray'lal to complete whatever duties he'd interrupted.

John removed his dark gray suit jacket as soon as he entered the bedroom, throwing it across the maroon and white settee.

The room was dark and quiet, Delenn nowhere to be seen. Yet John heard running water coming from his right. _The master bathroom. _

Toeing out of his black leather shoes, John followed the sound of running water, steps silent.

Slowly, he pushed open the bathroom door, hand preceeding face and body.

The lights were out here as well, the stained-glass ceiling window emitting the shyest of sun's rays.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The water ran; harsh drops loud in an otherwise solemn room.

In the middle of the morbid solitude sat Delenn, sprays of water rolling over head, back, arms. The droplets slid over slender legs, hidden feet, and down the drain in a dizzying, depressing whirl of unspoken finality.

Legs pulled tightly to chest and forehead on knees, Delenn rocked, pale, naked body shook. From the cold or her tears, John did not know.

He went to her, first cutting off the flow of icicled water running over her. _God, how long has she been in here like this?_

John pushed the thought from his mind, looked down again at his shivering wife quietly sobbing and quickly undressed.

Climbing into the tub with her, John ran a soothing hand over Delenn's drenched hair.

She didn't move; didn't stop crying; didn't acknowledge his presence.

Bending, John wrapped one hand under Delenn's bent legs and the other around her back, grasping her waist tightly, pulling then standing.

No response.

Holding her freezing body close to his own, John gingerly made his way out of the bathroom. He stared at the made bed then down at his cold wife, her lips a scary shade of blue.

_Need to get her warm._

Balancing Delenn carefully, John managed to pull down the bedclothes and place Delenn under them. Then he joined her, taking her in his arms again, pulling her so close to him, wrapping his large, warm body around her.

God, she was so cold. Goosebumps everywhere he touched. He began rubbing her feverously, trying to draw life back into his wilted rose.

But there were no more tears from Delenn, just the heart wrenching look on her face when she finally opened her eyes and said, "Lennier's flame is no more."

And John hurt. How he hurt for his wife, her pain, her sorrow. The depth of her ache over finally and truly losing the man she loved as a friend above all others, much deeper than he could reach. At least not yet.

John knew the pain of her loss right now to be too raw, too real, too fragile for them to have a rational conversation. They would have to eventually, though. Grief and guilt the silent mists that shrouded every discussion they've had about Lennier since that fateful day aboard the White Star three years ago.

But the man was dead now and John wished, as he's had before, that Lennier would've returned home and faced his demons head-on. If he had . . . maybe . . . just maybe . . .

John held Delenn tighter, her slim arms embracing him just as fiercely. He sighed, then kissed her forehead, her green-gray eyes looking up at him but strangely unfocused. Lost. Helpless.

With sadness, John remembered the last he'd seen that very look on Delenn's face. _After she watched all those Markabs die, unable to help, offering hollow prayers but sincere comfort._

Delenn pressed cold, trembling lips to his chin, his jaw, his cheek.

A small tilt of his head and John met her mouth, soft, wet, pleading.

_Comfort. _

"I—" Delenn began, but John stole her breath, her words.

He knew what she wanted, what she needed. _Comfort._

Lennier was dead but John was still alive. As was Delenn.

She mourned another but sought comfort in his arms.

He'd mourned Anna yet found hope in Delenn's courageous and stalwart soul.

_Comfort._

And when they made love, John knew Delenn was thinking of more than Lennier's extinguished flame. That the tears she'd shed when he brought her a second time was for the arms, the lips, the hard body that wouldn't be here to comfort her when John . . .


	17. Reason 17: Promise

**Reason 17: Promise**

Minbar, 2270

"Absolutely not, John. This is not what I meant when I made that promise."

Delenn tried to keep her voice low, tone firm. She did not want this disagreement to escalate into a full-blown argument. After all, she was the one skirting the issue of honor-bound promises, not John.

And he knew it, the all too knowing arch of her husband's eyebrows told Delenn John wasn't fooled one bit by her unrelenting but unjust stance. Two simple words had Delenn retreating, "You promised."

Yes, yes she had. But really, how was she to know that John Sheridan would make such a request of her?

"If I recall correctly, Delenn," he began, and Delenn knew John was toying with her, his memory when it came to such things perfect and wholly inconvenient when he used it against her, "you promised the next time we performed the Cha'lla ritual that I could select the method of stimulation. In fact, I believe you made the promise when you asked me to do that thing with my tongue and fingers you like so much."

Ah, yes, John Sheridan's memory was perfect, his strategy for getting what he wanted from Delenn even better.

She blushed, remembering exactly how well he'd used his tongue and fingers, and the promise he'd ripped from her throat on a very satisfied scream of release. But what he wanted to share with her just wasn't done. Minbari didn't—

"John," she tried, ignoring the way his eyes bored into hers, seeing too much of the uncomfortable woman within, "copulation is a private act. It 's not meant to be shared with others."

John leaned up and pulled her down beside him on the bed, tucking Delenn close to his side, his bare chest warm and firm.

"It's just a vid, Delenn," he said, as if she was missing the obvious, "it's not as if I'm asking you to make love in front of an audience or" his eyes twinkled with a wicked glint, "partake in a pleasure-seeking ritual with a party of five on the other side of our bedroom door."

Delenn frowned.

John laughed.

It had taken John years, but he'd finally brought his discomfiture with the audience part of the Shan'Fal full circle. And if his well-aimed arrow wasn't intended for her, Delenn would appreciate his marksmanship. But it was and she didn't.

"It's just the two of us," he continued. "And a vid." He slipped his hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, then began a slow massage, his fingers deliciously coaxing and temptingly seductive.

"I have no interest in watching other people," she sucked in a deep breath, John's thumb stroking a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, "engage in sexual relations."

A whisper of heat on her ear had her shivering. John's breath subtle in its sensuality. "You'll like it; trust me, honey."

She did trust him. But Delenn couldn't imagine how watching strangers engage in such a private act could possibly be arousing. Sometimes she simply did not understand humans.

"You told me the purpose of the Cha'lla ritual was to explore and share sexual fantasies with one's mate. And," he cupped her bottom, "I know from personal experience that your Minbari mind is quite fertile when it comes to bedroom gymnastics."

Another blush, much deeper this time. Must John remind her? Didn't he know that such things weren't talked about or reflected on? That modesty, even the illusion of it must be maintained at all times?

"I let you do all those wickedly, wonderful things to me." His fingers moved lower, exploring her bottom, setting off tendrils of heat and need and lust. "I only want to share a vid with you. What happens after is totally up to you."

"Up to me?" she asked, perking up at the thought, a little embarrassed that her mind was indeed a fertile ground for naughty John thoughts. Oh, the things that man could do on a flat bed. Another shiver.

John must've taken her bright expression as consent, for he said with a relieved command, "Play video; begin with fellatio scene."

_Fellatio? _Before Delenn could race down the meaning of the word in her mind, the image of a man on his back, a woman on her knees leaning over the man . . . head bobbing up and down, slurping and gurgling sounds coming from her, moans from the man, the definition of fellatio slammed through her senses in full color, the 3-D image bold, bright, and . . . strangely erotic.

Delenn settled more comfortably against her husband, eyes transfixed on the couple, captivated by the ardor by which the woman took in pleasuring her partner and his eager groans of appreciation.

She knew the feeling, recognized the sounds, this particular act one John enjoyed tremendously, just as much as the man fisting the woman's hair seemed to be. Yes, she knew that reaction as well, a sure sign she was doing her job of blowing just right.

Delenn chanced a glance up at her husband. To her surprise, his heated gaze was already on her, chest rising and falling with a quickened beat. "Porn vids aren't so bad, honey. Not as good as the real thing . . . but they can sure get you going."

Ah . . . yes, the moisture that had gathered in her most intimate area proof of that. So was the throbbing ache between her legs.

As far as promises went, the porn vid wasn't what she'd expected. And while she could definitely see . . . and feel the merits of such a fantasy, Delenn made a mental note to lock the vid in a drawer, lest Ray'lal stumble across it while cleaning, leaving Delenn to explain human sexuality to the worker caste Minbari. Not her idea of a fun conversation.

"Fuck, yes," the man swore, bucking his hips wildly, pumping and pushing, straining until he exploded, the woman never releasing him, taking and giving until the man slumped back against the bed, chest heaving, sweat falling, eyes laughing with pleasure.

And, no, she didn't have to look up at her husband to know that whatever else was on that vid wouldn't be watched tonight. His gruff, "Off," said it all.

Then he was gloriously naked on his back, urging a smiling Delenn between his legs, and . . .


	18. Reason 18: Role Play

**Chapter 18: Role Play**

Minbar, 2273

A man of John Sheridan's age really shouldn't play Alien Destroyer with a bunch of ten-year-olds. But really, what was a man to do when his son's best friend bragged about how his father had played Space Cowboy with the boys last weekend? Then David had given John that look. The look all young sons gave their fathers that was part plea, part hope, and part you're-just-as-cool-as-any-other dad.

So, yeah, being the cool, Human dad that John was, he took the plastic gun his son handed him, slipped on an old hockey mask, and blasted his way into the boy's makeshift ship, a compilation of strategically placed chairs, pillows, and stuffed animals.

Proud of himself, he'd invaded their ship, captured the crew, and waited for the captain, David, to show himself and to surrender. Well, David did eventually appear, a beginner's denn'bok in hand, wielding it with a proficiency John didn't know the child possessed. Then, without warning, his "captives" also produced denn'boks. Weapons conveniently tucked in the waistband of their pants, hidden by their robes.

The child he'd helped usher into the world, to whom he'd read a bedtime story to every night of his life, and taught how to ride a bike when he was six, legs barely long enough to reach the peddles, opened his mouth and bellowed with all his Sheridan might, "Get the alien invader. Don't let him escape."

The little monsters had set him up. And without a care for pride or dignity, John ran.

His turncoat son and his five-man crew gave chase, through the living room, down the hall, out the back door, and into the garden. And right in front of a stunned perimeter guard, the boys had caught up to their heavily-breathing prey.

John winced when he slipped into the hot bath water. Yeah, he was definitely too old. Or kids nowadays were exceptionally strong and fast. Either way, the two did not mix well.

But his body and the bath water did. He would just rest here for awhile; let the soothing water relieve his aches and pains. The greater ache to his pride would just have to wait.

Leaning against the back of the large, deep tub, John closed his eyes, trying not to remember how six ten-year-old religious caste boys had thoroughly and unrepentantly kicked his President of the Intestellar Alliance ass. Tomorrow he'd have a word with David about inviting a group of thugs into their home and siccing them on his unsuspecting father.

"So I hear you had quite a Saturday morning with the boys."

At the sound of his wife's voice, John opened one then both eyes. He waited for a grin or even mocking laughter. But none came, just a step inside the bathroom and a quick perusal of his naked body.

"Did I not tell you that David's level one denn'bok class meets here once every six weeks?"

John shook his head, then regretted the move. _Damn, did one of those rugrats get a lucky shot in to my head?_

"Well, they rotate each week, spending time at each of the children's homes at the conclusion of every practice. This week, as you discovered, was our week to host. I'm usually here to supervise when you're locked in your office catching up on paperwork."

But Delenn had been called away on Anla'shok business. And he'd been set-upon by little Rangers in training.

"John," Delenn said, the first embers of a smile forming, "level one denn'boks are made from a pliant material. Sturdy enough for sure, John, but not enough to do serious harm. We can't have the children hurting themselves while training, can we?"

"Have you ever been hit with one of those damn things, Delenn? By six people at once?"

She didn't answer him, which could mean a number of things for a Minbari. Instead, Delenn said, "I think, John, you were engaged in the wrong type of role play."

The slight irritation he'd felt at her obvious lack of concern over his well-being, suddenly evaporated with the words of "role play."

He sat up, the bubbles from his I'm-a-pathetic-old-man-who-was-beaten-up-by-my-son's-friends bath forgotten. His focus was now on the sensual glint in Delenn eyes.

"What did you have in mind, honey?" Oh, yeah, he was definitely perking up. "The naughty nurse and the horny patient? The trampy cheerleader and the cock-sure quarterback? Or what about—" John rose and stepped from the tub—"the hard-up captain and the virginal ambassador?"

Delenn laughed and backed away when he made to reach for her, slippery hands sliding off silk robe.

"What about," she said, turning away from John and walking back into their bedroom, "striptease dancer and bouncer."

"Oh man, Delenn, you did pay attention to that last porno we watched."

John grabbed a towel and quickly ran after his wife. If getting beat up by kids will get him a sympathy lapdance, well, what's a few bumps between friends.

Although, John thought wryly, when the boys returned in six weeks, he would introduce them to a different game—Alien Resurrection.


	19. Reason 19: Early Riser

**Reason 19: Early Riser**

Minbar, 2274

The sun hadn't yet risen over Tuzanor. No, that wondrous, daily miracle was still two hours away. But Delenn and John were awake. Being up before dawn fully broke was nothing new for them. Especially John.

Soon after moving to Minbar, Delenn had learned how much John had missed living on a planet. She did as well. But unlike her husband, Delenn had visited her Homeworld many times while she served as Ambassador to Bablyon 5.

Yet John had gone years without being able to fill his lungs with fresh, uncycled air, feel the moisture of cool rain on his thirsty skin, or witness the glorious rise of a new born sun.

So, John Sheridan had become an early riser, but he rarely strayed from bed on those mornings he'd decided to greet Mother Sun. No, he would simply snuggle closer to Delenn, kiss here exposed shoulder, and say, "Good morning, I missed you while I slept."

And, like always, she would giggle at his sweet, Human sentiment.

And this morning was no different, John's words a heated whisper against her soft flesh. The quiet room exposing her sigh of pleasure at the feel of John so close. Hard body contoured so deliciously around her frame.

Large, sure hand found silk nightgown and lifted, pushing it up to waist and out of his way.

Then more rustling of clothing, John's this time. A shift and dip as he discarded both boxers and shirt. Then he was pressed against her again.

Body and fingers.

Tempting.

Arousing.

Stoking flames.

His "morning wood," as John called this state so early in the day, searching and finding her lush and wet.

And the lazy morning dance began. A languid rhythm Delenn knew so well, but was still amazed at how well they fit, how much John Sheridan made her want, and how easily she melted in his embrace.

And Delenn did melt. And melt. And melted some more .

John's groans were husky in her ear, words of love even huskier. But his movements remained tender, controlled.

Until they didn't.

The soft groans turned into rough grunts, John shifting until Delenn was on her stomach instead of her side.

Then his thrusts came in earnest, heavy weight pushing Delenn into the mattress. The feeling glorious. His hard, hungry body overtop of her own aggressive, masculine, and oh so arousing.

A hand slipped between Delenn's body and the mattress, finding and stroking, forcing wicked pants of pleasure from her. Her body tightened, John's fingers taking her to the edge and, with a kiss, pushed her over.

And she fell. The fall a chasm of sexual synergy created just for her.

Then John joined her in the chasm, their bodies and souls linked. Falling, but not alone. Never alone.

They hit the bottom and exploded in tiny crystal shards of reflected light and love.

Exhausted.

Sweaty.

Satisfied.

And when she opened her eyes, darkness still surrounded Delenn. The sun had yet to rise. They still had time.

Turning in John's arms, Delenn rested her head on his solid shoulder.

He kissed her forehead, arms pulling her even closer.

And they drifted back off to sleep, neither quite ready to face the day, another sunrise.

It would be time enough for that.

Later . . .


	20. Reason 20: Missing You

**Reason 20: Missing You**

Minbar, 2276

John Sheridan sat with his back propped against an ancient sentry tree. A tree, Delenn had assured him, dated back to the time of Valen. He doubted that. But, John glanced up at the towering tree, its thick branches and sun ripened leaves protective and beautiful, and John thought that maybe, just maybe the tales surrounding the tree were true.

If so, then John envied the tree its long life. Its strength, its powerful grace from one century to the next. Its enduring legacy, the reason why Delenn had chosen this land as the site of their home and the ISA headquarters.

Minbari weren't superstitious per se, but they did have an interesting understanding of the delicate balance and interconnectedness of all living things. Yet none of that mattered to John. No, he was but a simple Kansas boy at heart who had reached for the stars but had found paradise instead. _Delenn._

John pulled his eyes from the tree's canopy and watched as a familiar figure came into view.

Thin and wiry, at thirteen, David Sheridan was nearly as tall as his mother. And with the exception of a small bonecrest partially hidden by dark brown hair, David Sheridan looked like a human in Minbari clothing. But John knew differently. Genetics may have placed his son closer to the human side, but David was most assuredly Minbari.

Culturally, how could he not? Minbar was his home. The religious caste more of his family than the human Sheridans who resided on a planet David had never visited. And while that truth never failed to sting, John did his best to bridge the familial and cultural divide for his son.

"I thought I would find you out here, Dad," David said, taking the spot across from John, the boy crisscrossing his legs effortlessly. The easy way of youth.

John smiled at his son, heartened every time David spoke to him in English.

When David was just beginning school, he rarely used English. And John understood why. It was hard enough being the only partial Minbari in school, and the last thing young David wanted to do was draw more attention to himself. Yeah, John understood the need to fit in, to be accepted by one's peers. He didn't blame his son, but it did hurt. The adolescent shunning of John's culture, David feeling the need to negotiate for acceptance.

But David had learned that being himself, his full self, was much more important and honorable than pretending to be someone he wasn't. One of many motherly lessons from Delenn.

"Have you finished all your school work?"

David nodded but looked away from John, a shadow of pain crossing his son's innocent features.

"What's wrong, David? Did something happen at school today?"

The boy shook his head, eyes still cast away from John.

John fought a sigh. _Puberty._ He barely remembered it. Except for the weird tingling sensation whenever a cute girl in his class would smile at him, the uncontrollable hormones that ravaged his body at the most embarrassing of times.

"What's the girl's name?"

David's head snapped up, green eyes confused.

"What girl?"

"The girl that's got you looking all forlorn. What's her name?"

David shook his head again, denying John's words.

"Not a girl, Dad, . . . well, there is one girl . . ." He shook his head again, looked down at the hands idly playing with the hem of his robe, then said, "We talked about the civil war today."

Okay, John knew David was studying modern history. The Minbari Civil War made sense. It was a short but violent period, one that went against everything Valen had stood for, fought for.

John frowned. Perhaps his class had discussed Delenn's role in breaking the Grey Council, taking religious and worker caste Satai with her to fight the Shadows that would've destroyed them all. Leaving the warrior caste behind, embarrassed, angry, and looking for revenge, power.

But David knew that already. Sure, it was probably uncomfortable having his mother the topic of a class lesson. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time, and would likely not be the last.

_So what is this all about?_

"Did you know," David's eyes finally met John's, "about the Starfire Wheel?"

_Ah, hell._

At the time, no, John did not know. Even now, he didn't even like to think about what could've happened to Delenn. What his life would've been like without her.

But Minbari did not view that event in the same way. It was an honorable way to bring about peace. The willingness to sacrifice oneself for your caste the truest testament to the heart and soul of a Minbari. Delenn had been willing to make that most personal of sacrifices. The soldier in John had understood, but the man, the fiancée had wanted to rage, to scold, to hold Delenn tight and forever keep her from harm.

"Your mother told me later."

David's eyes looked grave, the knowledge of death too close to him. But John knew the pain he saw in his son's eyes wasn't limited to what he'd learned today about his mother. No, it was a knowledge of another sort. Another truth he'd learned only a year ago.

Z'ha'dum instead of the Starfire Wheel.

"Do you think she will tell me if I ask?"

At one point John would've said no. Delenn didn't willingly share such pieces of her heart, not the ones so steeped in pain she'd rather keep them buried. Hidden, even from herself.

John watched David intently, the boy growing right before his eyes. He would be a man soon, ready to embark on his own adventures, make his own mistakes, define himself beyond being the son of John Sheridan and Delenn of Mir.

But it was David, this child of miracles that had changed Delenn, exposing a vulnerable side of her John found both intriguing and heart-warming.

"For you, son, I think she would. But you must always remember to respect her privacy, her right to withhold what is only hers to give."

Another nod, then, "So, how long do we have before she returns?"

John thought a minute, then said, "Almost nine days. She's only just left this morning, David."

Yet it had felt like so much longer.

Delenn rarely left Minbar nowadays, but whenever the Grey Council requested her presence, she always went.

_Nine days without Delenn. What in the hell am I going to do for nine freakin' days?_

"What are we going to do for nine days?" David asked, echoing John's thoughts.

Then David's face altered, morphing into something reckless and entirely human.

The boy jumped to his feet, white robe billowing in the soft wind.

"Nine days," he said, his voice suddenly anxious. "There are tons of things we can do, Dad, in nine days."

John didn't like the conspiratorial tone of his son's voice. And maybe David Sheridan was more human than John thought, because the child's eyes had turned a rebellious shade of green. The same look John's mother swore she'd glimpsed right before the youthful John did something stupid.

"I have a list."

"A list?" Hell, John didn't even want to know.

"Yes, a list of human activities I want to try but knew mom would never approve."

Yeah, probably for good reason.

"Nine days," David said again, clearly having forgotten all about the Starfire Wheel in light of nine mother-free days.

_Yup, typical human teen reaction. _It had taken David awhile, but he was now fully on course, seeing and intending to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity.

But hell, no, was John going to allow David to pull him into some stupid teen escapade. He was too old for foolish antics. Besides, John thought, thinking with a different set of needs, sleeping in a Delenn-less bed for eight days was an opportunity he would rather let pass by.

"Firecrackers, skateboarding, streaking," David began, talking more to himself than John, using his fingers to tick off his mental list of things that no Minbari, with Delenn for a mother, would be stupid enough to even contemplate.

Hell, John grimaced, rising from what had been a peaceful getaway in their sprawling backyard.

This was going to be a very long nine days. And when John heard David say, "atomic wedgie," he knew he was doomed.

Delenn was laughing. One hand covered her mouth and tears leaked from her eyes.

"It wasn't funny, Delenn."

She nodded but continued to laugh, face flush. And John thought she'd never looked lovelier.

"I know, John, it's just—" More laugher.

"Your uncle was livid," John continued, surprised by Delenn's reaction. "He glowered at me, convinced I knew what David was up to."

"Calleen will get over it, John. He was merely embarrassed."

The man had been more than embarrassed, David's atomic wedgie causing Callenn to yelp in both shock and discomfort. All in front of ten other clan members, who, by their reddened faces but quirked mouths, found it as amusing as Delenn.

John began to relax, for once, seeing the humor in it. But he wouldn't press his luck. No way would he inform Delenn of exactly how David had spent the last nine days tonight. Not if he wanted her happy and receptive.

And, yes, she was very receptive now. And warm. And soft. And gloriously naked beside him, still laughing at her very uptight uncle.

Finally, she stopped, and wrapped her arms around John. All the humor gone from her eyes, just love and a matching desire stared back at him.

"I missed you," she admitted, stealing the words he wanted to say to her.

John kissed her. Silken lips met his, soft and eager. And the cold that had invaded his soul for the last eight nights, heated and spread throughout his taut body.

The kiss deepened, tongues engaged, and sunshine burst from John. Delenn had always been his sun, his star, his guide to all things possible.

And was it possible to love a woman more with each day? John knew it was, had first-hand experience.

Although, admittedly, those experienced hands were now stroking over flawless, aroused flesh.

_I missed you, too, honey._ John spoke the words to himself, their mouths still connected, drawing out the pleasure, the raw sensuality of their reunion.

He'd tell her later.

Much, much later . . .


	21. Reason 21: Anniversary

**Reason 21: Anniversary**

Minbari Space, 2277

Delenn anxiously watched John as he slowly toured the deck of the new White Star. The Grey Council had approved her request a year ago, the sleeker, lighter, faster White Star in which Delenn and John now stood the first in the new line of White Star fleets.

John's hands grazed the back of the captain's chair, the flat screen controls to the right of the chair, then he turned to Delenn. His eyes glistened with awe and masculine pleasure. Her mouth became dry. Her heart thudded loudly, his appreciative gaze holding her in place. Their eyes locked for an eternal beat.

Then her heart began to slow, permitting her ears to hear the words John was saying to her. "This is my ship?"

His question held a tone of disbelief, perhaps even surprise.

Delenn clasped her hands in front of her, her gray and blue silk robes soft and familiar against her skin. "Of course, John."

John shook his head as if he was amused then laughed. "You say that like it's no big deal to gift a person with a spankin' new, top of the line ship." He moved closer to Delenn, his hands finding hers. John took hold of her hands, lifted them to his mouth, and kissed the knuckles. "Most wives give their husbands ties or cologne, or hell, a little something special in the bedroom for an anniversary gift." He chuckled again, and Delenn didn't know whether he was pleased or displeased with the gift.

But the way he kept smiling down at her, her hands still raised to his mouth, John's actions didn't seem to match his words.

"Are you not pleased with the ship, John? I thought . . . well, I thought you would enjoy such a craft. It's large enough to hold a crew of six, but small enough to be managed by one person."

His smile never waned, nor the brightness of his eyes. In fact, they seemed to grow the longer John held Delenn, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.

John leaned down, his warm breath a sensual tickle against Delenn's ear. He whispered, "Outside of your love and David, this is the best gift you have ever given me, honey." He kissed her ear, gently taking hold of her lobe then sucking. "It's perfect." Another kiss, to her neck this time. "Perfect, Delenn. Just." Kiss. "Like." Lick. "You." Bite.

And if John wasn't holding Delenn to him, she would've melted right at his feet, a puddle of tingling female need and want.

John lifted his head and took her mouth. No matter how many times they kissed, the feel of John's lips on hers, his tongue gliding in and out of her mouth, the minty, wet taste of him always sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. And this kiss was no different, the hot, hungry sensation dizzying and life affirming. Delenn wanted more.

She wrapped one hand around John's neck while lifting up on her toes, pulling herself closer while deepening the kiss.

John's moans into her mouth sent flutters of aching need to nipples already crushed so deliciously against strong, solid chest.

And before Delenn knew what was happening, John had divested them both of their clothing, set the ship's controls to circle Minbar, and claimed his captain's chair. With Delenn on top of him, straddling John in a most unladylike but erotic way.

"Now this is the way to christen a ship, Delenn," John said, his mouth and hands everywhere. Stroking, kissing, licking, caressing, holding her so tightly, loving her body so expertly that Delenn didn't need to look outside to see stars.

"Happy anniversary, John." Words softly spoken on a tide of pleasure. _Only_ f_our left._ Words resolutely unspoken on a sob of pain.


	22. Reason 22: Home Alone

Reason 22: Home Alone

Minbar, 2278

The Minbari Ranger's face registered no shock or even surprise when he saw young David Sheridan walk, head held high but expression confused, towards the transporter.

The Ranger opened the door, and the young male nodded his thanks and drew himself inside.

David Sheridan was tall, like his father. Had the president's big hands and wide shoulders. A body the boy hadn't yet fully grown into. But he would, the Ranger could see the strength in David, heard the telltales signs of approaching manhood in his voice two years ago when puberty began to set in.

The Ranger slid into the front seat, secured the doors and waited.

And while David Sheridan may have had his father's physique, he had his mother's eyes, her stubborn jaw, and her brilliant yet cautious mind. Which was why the Ranger was surprised when young Sheridan told him where he intended to go tonight.

The Ranger chanced a look in the rearview mirror, and just as he'd expected, the boy was deep in thought, eyes downcast, looking at something the Ranger couldn't see. Probably nothing more than the fingers he often intertwined on his lap when he sought comfortable silence. So Minbari in that. Then why this place?

David Sheridan raised his head, and their eyes met. The boy smiled wanly, then said, "Human parties are inordinately loud. I cannot honestly say that I understand the purpose."

The Ranger kept his face blank, although the boy amused him so and a smile threatened at the edge of his thin lips. David Sheridan could be as boisterous as any full-human teenager or as placid as a Sister of Valeria alone in her chamber. Tonight . . . well, tonight the boy was being particularly Minbari—introspective in the extreme.

David sighed, then ran a hand through his dark brown hair, fingers sliding over his small bonecrest. His hand rested there for a moment then dropped back to his lap.

"Do you find it odd," David began, "that I look nearly like a full-human but most think of me as a full-Minbari?"

"Does that bother you?" the Ranger asked instead of answering David's question.

David shrugged, but there was no true nonchalance there. "I just find it odd. Not disturbing and certainly not insulting, for I am my mother's son." Another shrug, even less convincing this time. "But I am also my father's son. His only child."

Ah, the Ranger was beginning to understand. "Is that why you chose to attend the human birthday party tonight?"

"There were more than humans at the party tonight." David's response was defensive and quick but it held no heat, no anger, just a young man's need to clarify any inaccurate conclusions the Ranger may have drawn. Not that the Ranger's conclusions were inaccurate, but David Sheridan wasn't one to be easily led by his nose. And he was smart enough to know precisely the underlying meaning of the Ranger's "simple" query.

"So how much longer do you wish to sit here, Ranger Washan, slowly psychoanalyzing my identity issues and motives for attending a party that gave me a headache ten minutes after arriving?"

"You think Minbari parties are 'boring'."

David laughed. "Minbari do not have parties, Washan, at least not what any human would consider a party." Another laugh, childlike and innocent. "We have meetings, rituals, as well as calculated and purposeful gatherings. None of which rises to the label of a 'party'."

David narrowed his eyes at Ranger Washan, then said in a tone that sounded too much like Entil'zha Delenn, "And don't think I failed to recognize how you have yet to directly answer any of my questions since entering this transport."

Now, Ranger Washan did smile. He couldn't help it, young David Sheridan was a miracle to behold—Minbari heart and soul. And one day, when he was far from home and all others saw was his human hair, human body, and thought him like every other human, he would know that his father lived on in him, but that he was also a beloved son of Minbar.

Ranger Washan glanced at the bright red lights on the dash. They had only been gone two hours. Was that enough time?

_Probably not. I can't keep stalling. David is far too smart for that._

With a wave of his hand, the transporter came to life, and Washan pulled out of the parking space, looking to his left before leaving the spot, traffic sparse on the quiet street.

It had taken David all of five minutes to realize the Ranger's ploy. His words of "not the long way again, Washan. I can't believe you're taking this roundabout way to get home," halted the Ranger, the transport slowing then stopping on his command.

Ranger Washan lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror and there sat a puffed up David with his arms crossed over his thinly muscled chest. Again, no heat, no anger, just . . . well, mild annoyance.

It was the Ranger who now sighed. He turned in his seat to peer directly at David. And in a low, conspiratorial voice as if others were about, he said, "You know don't you?"

Those green-gray slits of his narrowed as if the Ranger had just asked him if he'd ever heard of Valen.

"I'm fifteen cycles, Ranger Washan, do you not think I know what my parents do when I'm out and they are home alone." He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes as if it, too, annoyed his young sensibilities. "I just thank Valen that they're always finished by the time I return home."

Yes, so did the Ranger. But had they been gone long enough tonight to allow Delenn and Sheridan some private time. Valen, he hoped so, because David didn't seem the least bit interested in the party, taking the scenic route home, or going any place else on what humans referred to as Saturday night.

David uncrossed his arms and leaned in close. "I can always tell, you know. Dad walks around with this big, silly smile on his face, like he's just eaten a bowl of chocolate candies. He even whistles." David shuddered.

So did Washan. He did not need to know that about the President of the Interstellar Alliance. More importantly, he really didn't want to know that Entil'zha Delenn could make a war-roughened, former Earthforce soldier, survivor of Z'ha'dum _whistle_.

And to make matters worse, Ranger Washan now recalled the numerous times he'd seen John Sheridan exiting his wife's office with a wide smile on his face and, yes, whistling.

Ranger Washan glanced at the time again then back at a knowing David.

As if defeated, the young Sheridan slumped back against the seat and said in a resigned voice, "The long route, Ranger, the long route. I do not wish to surprise my parents with an early return."

The Ranger agreed, turning back around and restarting the transporter. He eased back into traffic and minutes later, David said, "I value my eyesight, Ranger Washan, and if I never see my father's naked body making a mad dash into his bedroom, my mother's robe haphazardly covering all the male bits, I may just keep my vision and my sanity."

They both grimaced.

Ranger Washan slowed the transport even more, deciding that to truly appreciate the crystal beauty that was Tuzanor, one must not rush the experience. No, there was no chance he and David would arrive one minute before they were expected. And as the humans say, "no way in hell."


	23. Reason 23: Reprieve

**Reason 23: Reprieve**

Rim of Centauri Space, 2279

John had stayed at the controls longer than was probably necessary, but he had to make sure, had to guarantee that indeed no one followed. That Londo hadn't turned traitor again and sent his guards after John and Delenn.

He grimaced at the thought, at the memories that kept assaulting his mind. No matter how he tried to ignore them, they pushed in, holding his mind and heart captive.

"Could've lost them both," a disbelieving whisper spoken to an empty bridge, John the sole occupant.

The starry bleakness of the Universe sped by, John going as fast as he dared. He wanted to put as much distance between the ship and Centauri Prime, between John and Delenn and death as possible.

Years ago when Delenn, John, Sinclair, Susan, and Marcus were aboard Babylon 4, John had somehow slipped from his time and into the future. _This future._ His then present self had been thrown into a cell on Centauri Prime.

He was confused then. Even after having Delenn tossed in with him, the confusion didn't lessen. If anything, a clearly older, openly loving and affectionate Delenn made matters worse. She'd kissed John—desperate and familiar. And, oh, how he'd longed back then to have Delenn in his arms, pressed against him, warm and soft and willing.

But the emotions were all wrong in that cell. There had been heat from her, but the kind that came from knowing that the end was near. Not the heat from passion, the sweet anticipation of a lover's tender kiss and even sweeter embrace. The kind of passion John had felt for Delenn but had kept resolutely in check.

John navigated the ship safely out of Centauri Space, scanning the surrounding area. The censors detected nothing. John breathed a heavy sigh of relief, then set the coordinates for home, for Minbar.

Once they were closer to Minbari Space, he would make contact. For now, silence was the best option. He wouldn't risk Delenn.

But they'd already risked everything, were willing to trade their lives for that of their son's. And wasn't that what the Drakh had wanted, had waited all these years for?

John shook his head. The Drakh had played the long game of revenge, using an innocent boy as a pawn, a pawn that had drawn out John and Delenn. And so they'd left the safety of Minbar and headed to Centauri Prime, knowing and accepting their fate.

But the Universe wasn't done with them, not just yet. _Another reprieve. _

John had always wondered what had happened to his older self when he was displaced in time. Now he had his answer. His spirit had gone beyond the Rim, to the place where no shadows fall.

John couldn't explain the how, the what, or the why. Neither did he know how he knew where he was. John never truly believed such a place existed, even though he respected Delenn's religious beliefs. But a part of him had indeed traveled there, as if he belonged there, was already a part of it.

And that same part of him had wanted to stay, had wanted to glory in the sense of rightness and peace that thrummed through him. Yet a larger, more urgent part of John Sheridan has whispered that it wasn't yet time, that Delenn and David still needed him. So John had turned away from the temptation of eternal peace, and ran toward something much more precious.

His family.

John watched his wife sleep, her breathing soft in the quiet room. Delenn had protested when John first suggested she rest, but he'd managed to convince her that she wouldn't want David to see his mother in her current exhausted state. They both had known it was a manipulative ploy, but more importantly, it was the truth. David didn't need the telltale signs of his parents' ordeal written over every line of their faces.

John would rest too, he'd already showered. But he couldn't stop staring at his wife, his mate, his Delenn. They'd shared so much. A child. A home. An alliance.

But they'd also shared pain and fear and hurt and grief, combined with happiness and laughter and passion and love.

And there could be so much more. Time had always been their enemy though, more frightening than any foe they'd fought. But it was futile to wage war against time. Wasted effort John was too smart to engage. Time always moved forward, only foolish people moved backward. And there was no going backward for John Sheridan. And while he couldn't trick, add, or stall time, he and Delenn had been given a reprieve. A reprieve the soldier in him refused to squander.

John slid into bed beside Delenn. And like always, she shifted to his side, left leg slipping between his, left arm going to his chest.

Her small hand began a slow caress, moving from chest to shoulder to neck. John knew Delenn was only partially awake, her body instinctively responding to his nearness. And she felt so good next to him, naked body snuggled so enticingly close.

Taking the hand now stroking his face, John held it in his own, kissing the palm before sucking each delicate finger.

Delenn sighed but did not wake.

John shifted, rolling Delenn to her back with a precision born of years of practice. And still she slept, and John couldn't help but smile down at her. She was still as lovely as ever, the few gray strands at her temples taking nothing away from his wife's beauty.

John kissed those temples, then her cheeks, her throat. By the time his tongue reached her nipple, Delenn was wide awake, one hand in his hair, the other holding on to his shoulder.

"Jooohn," she moaned, voice thick with sleep and arousal. She whispered his name again. This time with need and . . . fear? "John, where did you go?"

_Where did I go?_

"I didn't go anywhere, honey. I've been watching you sleep." Even when he answered, John knew what Delenn meant. Where did he go when she was in the cell with his younger self? _To death. To my future. To the next plane of existence. Without you._ But he wouldn't say that, couldn't tell her the truth. Refused to bring her anymore pain. The future would tend to that.

Instead, John said against her stomach, the one that had carried the best of them both, "I'm here now, Delenn, loving you, wanting to make love to you. To enjoy this reprieve we've been given." He looked up and, as he'd expected, she was staring down at him, tears in her eyes. _Ah, she knows. How does she always know?_

But Delenn didn't speak the words either. Just nodded and opened her arms to John.

He went.

And kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her some more until she begged him to join with her. He did. Wrapping his entire body around her, John claimed his reprieve with mouth and tongue and hands and heat.

And when Delenn said his name, sighed it, moaned it, yelled it, there was only passion and pleasure and need between each gasped syllable.

They were alive.

They were together.

They were com—


	24. Reason 24: Just Because

**Reason 24: Just Because**

Minbar 2280

It had been a week since David had left home for Ranger training. The proper rituals had been performed, prayers duly given, best wishes bestowed, hugs and kisses happily exchanged. Delenn, well, Delenn couldn't be prouder of her son, although she already missed him.

Watching the single flame flicker, Delenn remembered how nervous David had been before the induction ceremony. If possible, John was even more nervous than his son. But John had also been strangely quiet as well, slipping away for a moment of privacy before they left for the ISA Headquarters. After that, he'd been in high spirits, laughing and joking, smile broad and eyes twinkling with fatherly pride.

But now the house was quiet. Quiet in a way it hadn't been since the day John had brought Delenn and David home from the birthing center. And while Delenn normally treasured such moments of tranquility, she was wise and honest enough to admit that her life was once again in a state of irrevocable change. Foreseeable change, yes. Unavoidable change, most certainly. Accepted change? Well, she had no real choice but to accept such machinations of the Universe.

Delenn's eyes began to water, the flame no longer as clear as it had been. Meditation having long since given way to intense reflection. The kind of reflection Delenn had to do alone, in the privacy of her meditation chamber. It was here, always here where she prepared herself, fortified her spirit, her soul for the unfathomable quiet growing on the other side of the door. A gnawing emptiness that had grown over the years, clawing at her insides, shredding them to pieces with the tick, tick, tick of time.

And the dam, the one Delenn rebuilt every time she locked herself away in this room of regrets and reminders, this chamber of weakness and wishes, this fortress of tears and tenacity. This place that asked no questions, held no expectations, required nothing of Delenn, not even her oft recited prayers.

And Delenn had found herself praying even more of late. John and his dimming light the focal point of most.

Delenn slid from her knees and fully onto the carpeted floor, her white meditation robe splayed out under her. Eyes open, tears spilling from them, Delenn watched the play of stars on the ceiling, an illusion, the constellations of the Minbari Solar System shimmering and shifting as the months and times changed.

_Change. Always change. A heartless reminder that life can and will never be stagnant, no matter how much I may wish it, desire it, pray for it. But no, the Universe halts for no one. Not for good. Not for ill. Not for John Sheridan._

Day turned into night and still Delenn stayed, the flame of her single candle abandoning her long ago. Then strong arms lifted her from the chasm she'd fallen into, the light radiating from his eyes bright and loving and too painful to watch. So she didn't, closing her eyes and turning her head into a muscular shoulder.

Then there was softness under her, familiar and warm. Then fingers upon her, removing clothing she could no longer feel against her chilled skin. Then a mouth, wet and sweet and demanding.

"Come back to me," the familiar voice demanded.

_I haven't gone. I'm still here. It's you who will be leaving. You who will never return._

More kisses, harder this time. And hands. Gentle but persistent.

"I'm still here, honey. I'm still here."

_Not for long. Twenty years and no more . . . twenty years and no more._

Delenn knew she was crying, felt the warm, wet heat of them cascading down her cheeks. She simply couldn't stop the tears from falling, not even when John wrapped her in his arms, stroking and kissing and making love to her.

Not even when she climaxed, hanging on to him with hands and heart and soul, refusing to let him go. Denying the Universe another star to add to its collection. This star, this bright light belonged to Delenn of Mir and she wasn't ready to relinquish her claim. _Not yet. Dear Valen, not yet._

So they made love again. Because they could. Because it wasn't time yet. Because the Universe eventually reclaimed all its sons and daughters but today, this day, John Sheridan still yet lived. So they made love again and again and again. Because they could.

Just because.


	25. Reason 25: Last Time

**Reason 25: Last Time**

Minbar, 2281

John Sheridan awoke for what he knew to be the last time. After today, there would be no more sunrises for him. No more Alliance. No more squabbling ambassadors. No more long Minbari rituals. No more David. No more Delenn. No more John J. Sheridan.

Eyes still closed, John just lay quietly in his bed, not quite ready to face the end . . . or the unfathomable future. A future without home or hearth.

Not wishing to wake Delenn, John swallowed a sigh as he thought back to the words he'd spoken to his wife last night. "_Tomorrow there will be no talk of this. I want it to be a good day, a happy day. I want that. I want it a great deal."_ And he did. He needed today to not be full of tears and regrets. He needed to be able to leave his home, his family, his mate with the remaining embers of his soul still intact. For John knew that anything less would rip his heart into tiny bits of sorrow and pity.

He shifted, turning onto his side so that he could see the sleeping form of his wife, his Delenn. John watched and listened, the strong up and down motion of her chest affirming her place on this plane of existence. The beat of Delenn's heart was always true, filled with an honorable determination John admired in her long before his own heart had healed from Anna's death.

But it had healed . . . over time and with the help of good friends and an understanding family. But the journey had been a difficult one, a road he would've rather left untraveled. Yet death always came, unbidden, unavoidable.

And now it was John's time to be reabsorbed back into the Universe, the cosmos of stars, of light, of hope, of faith.

John smiled. He couldn't help it. He'd spent the last twenty years living among Minbari and on his last day, he'd just realized how much he actually thought like them. Funny, funny indeed. So funny that he forgot about not waking his wife and laughed. Not loud or long but genuine and refreshing.

As he knew they would, sleepy green-gray eyes opened. Then a happy smile played around the edges of Delenn's lips as they stared at each other. The love this woman had for him was endearing, always shining on the other end of any look she bestowed on John.

"_Then you will have it." _Delenn's words from the night before. She would give him his happy day. John's last happy day. Her eyes, the way she looked at him said that a Minbari never lies. That Delenn of Mir, no matter how much grief she would endure when her husband left to never return, would honor her vow, John's last request of her. And for that, if it was at all possible, John loved Delenn even more.

John reached for Delenn and she came, body still naked from when they'd made love last night. _The last time._ Or so John had told himself. Yet the way his equally nude body was responding to Delenn's nearness was a contradiction he welcomed.

With vigor that came from some reserve John didn't know existed, he went about making love to his wife one last time. Knowing when they finished, when they exploded in rapturous, sensual glory, it would truly, inescapably be the last time for John Sheridan and Delenn of Mir.

And when John reached that peak, when his heart raced, skin tightened, muscles clenched, there was only one thing we could say, "Woo hoo."

**Author's Note: **

I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who supported this work—reading and commenting. When I began this story, it was not my intention to take months to complete the 25 chapters. But as we all know, real life takes precedence over fictitious ones. Again, thank you.


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